The Scorpion's Sting
by fledge
Summary: Sequel to The Secret Diary of Fleur Delacour. So you should read that first. Set in Harry's fifth year, and more or less AU. Find out how Fleur gets to Hogwarts for her last school year, and how Harry's and her fight against Voldemort goes on. Re-posted f
1. It's going to be a cold lonely summer

Seems I need to repost this, as the separation between the two POVs did not show up. I've always said there's black magic in computers!

A/N: Well, my friends, here I am again with the first chapter of the sequel to my Harry/Fleur saga. I must say I find this new way of writing a bit difficult after the first part. Please tell me your opinions, there is still time to change the fundamental approach. And, yes, please: CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM is not only welcome but absolutely necessary! "You should do this or that, and you messed up this one bcause.... In your place I would do this..." such things help me a lot more than the stereotypical "Great work, update soon!" Of course this is not to say I don't appreciate the praise, too; and instead of not reviewing at all, keep the laurel wreaths coming, by all means!

Thanks for all the interesting comments and ideas, especially **LT200; **you have the most fascinating insight into the nature of writng, how come you have not done anything on ffnet yourself? I'm sure it would be great! I tried to mail you directly, but the address that is given on ffnet is wrong. Would be nice if you could give me the correct one.

I'm starting a Yahoo! Group, too, where I intend to park Fleur's Diary, and some other tidbits of my writings. You're welcome to visit and discuss all Fleur-related stuff. The group is called FLEUR DE FOUDRE, which means Flower of Lightning, if my French is correct. But be patient, it will take some time until you can find anything there.

Anyway, here is the beginning of **"THE SCORPION'S STING":**

**Chapter 1 – It's going to be a cold lonely summer**

"Fleur!" Margaux was shaking her friend, who had been gazing dreamily out of the window for the last couple of hours, or so it seemed. "Fleur! We're going to arrive in a few of minutes!"

"What?" The silver-blonde girl replied, snapping out of her trance. "Oh-"

Her face fell, and the blue eyes darkened.

"Come," Iphigenie, who had moved to her side, interjected, "It won't be as bad as all that. We've promised to come visit you, remember? And we'll find a way…"

"Yes, I know, and I'm grateful for that," Fleur said in a low, dull voice. "But… you don't know my mother… And- and I'm missing him so already!" Her voice shook with suppressed tears.

"Come, it's no good, and you know it," Margaux said resolutely. "If you want to do anything about it, the first thing you need is a clear head! All that snivelling and crying won't make things better. And, who knows, perhaps your mother will be nicer to you now; you're a Triwizard Champion after all, and she may be glad enough to have you back. Perhaps what happened to Cedric has made her think about what could have happened to you…"

"Yes, sometimes these things take time to sink in," Iphigenie assisted. "Why don't you just wait and see how things develop? And we'll come to see you in a weeks' time. Let's see if she can refuse!"

"Yes, we're Beauxbatons graduates now, aren't we?" There was pride in Margaux' voice. "Ready to start an independent life of our own!"

Fleur couldn't help smiling at her friend's eager tone of voice.

"There you go, Margaux said, satisfied, "that's the spirit! Just don't let her get you down!"

Presently, the Expres Beauxbatons came to a standstill at perron 3 ¾ of Gare St. Lazare, and the students started leaving the train eagerly, happy to start off into their hard-earned holidays.

"Got to run!" Margaux shouted breathlessly. "We've got this new flat together, see… oh, I can't wait!" And she grabbed her girl-friend's hand and pulled her out into the corridor.

Fleur remained in her seat until the noise in the train had died down, then, with a sigh, she got up and slowly left the compartment.

The platform was nearly deserted, when she stepped on to it, heaving her trunk after her. She had not expected anyone to be waiting for her, and so she was completely taken by surprise when a small girl rushed towards her; she barely had time to react and open her arms before her sister jumped right into them.

"Gabie? What the…?"

Fleur couldn't believe it. The last thing she had expected after her mother's cool farewell was to be welcomed and almost toppled over by her sister. Concluding logically, that Gabrielle was too young to be travelling on her own, she looked around, and really, she saw her mother standing there, a couple of feet away, a rare smile on her face.

She put her little sister back on the ground and turned to her mother, unable to hide her surprise.

"_Maman_?"

"Yes, _cherie_," Isabeau Delacour said, stepping up towards her and opening her arms. "I thought it would be a bit hard for you if you had to arrive here all on your own… After that terrible experience of yours, I've been thinking I've perhaps been a bit inconsiderate…"

Fleur was speechless for a moment; how long ago was it that she had heard her mother talk to her that way?

"But _Maman__…_"

"No buts," her mother said quietly. "Won't you embrace your mother?"

Still surprised, but not unpleasantly so, Fleur complied.

_This is a dream,_ she thought, _and if I just go along, it may be some time until I wake up…_

They left the station together, Fleur and her mother each holding one of Gabrielle's hands. Men kept turning their heads to look at the small group, and more often than not someone ran into something, because they had not been watching where they were going. Of course this was nothing surprising, Isabeau Delacour was certainly a stunning appearance in her exquisitely tailored silk trousers and jacket, clicking along on her high stilettos, her waist-long silver-blonde mane dancing in the rhythm of her steps.

_I wonder, does she still possess the Veela charm? Can she use it at will?_

_"Imbecile_", Isabeau muttered impatiently, hurling a devastating look at a uniformed man, who was standing in her way. The man turned a deep shade of red and slunk away.

Outside the station, the silver Rolls Royce was parked, - in the tow-away zone, of course. A grim-faced policeman was standing next to it.

"Is this-" He could not even finish his sentence; when the Veela smile hit him full force, his eyes turned glassy and his motions became machine-like as he saluted and stepped out of the way.

Fleur couldn't help grinning. _So that's my question answered. That charm works all right._

Isabeau got into the car and motioned for Fleur to sit next to her. Gabrielle got in in the back, and noiselessly, and in an elegant curve the huge car started to move.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Get in, boy, we haven't got all day," Vernon Dursley grunted when they had finally reached the car. He was huffing a good deal in the hot sun, as, of course, there had been no parking space available nearer than twenty minutes' walk from King's Cross. Moreover, they had just reached the Vauxhall when a policeman had started writing out a ticket, and it had only been with luck (the policeman's biro refused to write) that he had escaped a fine. Naturally, Vernon's normally less than amenable mood had reached rock bottom. "Don't know why I take the trouble to fetch you, really. Why can't those weirdoes look after you in the holidays, too? And is there any gratitude? No sir! But what else is there to be expected…"

His grumbling became indistinct as he folded his bulk up into the driver's seat.

"How long are you going to take with that bloody trunk of yours?" he snarled at Harry, who had been heaving his huge Hogwarts trunk along through the streets all by himself, and was now using all his strength to stow it away in the boot. ("No, I don't have a coin for you to use for the trolley," Vernon had said nastily. "Why don't you use some magic?" Of course he knew exactly Harry was strictly forbidden to do any magic outside school, and he enjoyed it a good deal.)

A last, feeling exhausted, Harry had managed to close the boot, and slipped into the back seat. He had no wish to sit next to his uncle, and Vernon did not comment on this.

The ride passed without any interruption, not even by a single word between uncle and nephew. The only sounds Vernon made were scathing remarks on other drivers' abilities of steering a car. When they finally pulled up at Privet Drive number 4, Vernon slammed the door and marched up to the house without looking back at Harry.

Harry, who had not felt like talking to his uncle anyway (he usually didn't), climbed out, got his trunk and dragged it up the front door, where his cousin was leaning, an unpleasant grin on his face. He seemed to have increased, if not in height then in width, although this had already seemed impossible when Harry had seen him last.

"Ah, so you're back, scar-face," he sneered at Harry. "Pity nobody turned you into a slimy slug or something…"

"Leave me alone, will you?" Harry replied quietly, pushing past Dudley, and could not help a slight feeling of satisfaction as he noticed the edge of his trunk grazing Dudley's shin.

"Look where you're going, fathead!" Dudley snorted and smacked the back of Harry's head forcefully.

Harry ignored him and started heaving his trunk up the stairs. When he had at last reached his room, he collapsed on his bed and closed his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Elegantly wending its way through the heavy traffic, the Rolls soon left Paris and after a short time (shorter than a normal un-charmed vehicle would have needed) they entered a well-groomed park and at last drew up in front of a large Empire-style mansion.

Still dazed with her mother's unusual behaviour (she had been chatting to her most of the journey), Fleur got out of the car and stretched her legs. Gabrielle jumped out of the car too, and presently the two sisters were happily dancing on the gravel path that led up to the front door, where the butler had just appeared.

In a haughty gesture that would have been very familiar to Fleur had she been watching it, Isabeau tossed the car keys to the butler and then approached her daughters.

"Welcome home, Fleur," she said with her beautiful smile. "It's so good to have you back. You and I, we must have a nice long talk some day soon."

_Is she trying the Veela charm on ME? No, it can't be, I'm being paranoid…My own mother! But I must find out what has made her change so completely._

"_Oui_, _Maman_," she said dutifully, "I'm looking forward to it."

They proceeded into the salon, where the house-elves had arranged lunch – some ten different dishes, beautifully presented on silver dishes on the long table.

"I thought you might appreciate some real food after the horrors of British cooking," Isabeau said with another smile.

"But English breakfast is great," Gabrielle piped up. "I loved those baked beans, and the bacon…"

"And I have a surprise for you," Isabeau continued, completely ignoring her younger daughter. "Look who's here!"

And as Fleur turned round she gave a delighted gasp.

"_Grand-mere_!" she shouted and rushed over to embrace the tall woman who had just entered.

Nobody would have guessed that Vivienne Delisle was 150 years old; she did not look a day older than forty, perhaps, and the inexperienced observer could easily have taken her for Isabeau's (only slightly) elder sister. The family likeness was unmistakable.

"_Fleur, ma petite!_" she exclaimed, "oh, how wonderful to see you again after that long time! You'll have to tell your old grandmother everything about your adventures in foggy dark Scotland! So you didn't win, but so what, I've been telling your mother, it's no disgrace at all to lose against Harry Potter! You must tell me what he is like; you must have got to know him a bit, I expect?"

_Was that a secret twinkle in her eyes? But she can't possibly know… Well, so it was her who made mother change her attitude…_

"But I hardly know him at all, grandma, …"

Vivienne put a silencing finger on her granddaughter's lips, and now the twinkle was unmistakable.

"Not now, _cherie_, we'll have a lot of time later on, why don't we attack this beautiful lunch now?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You, boy!" Vernon's voice came barking from downstairs. "Get down here! Now!"

Harry, who had dozed off, woke with a start. From long experience he knew it was wise to follow his uncle's invitation. With a heavy sigh he heaved himself from his bed.

_Why can't the old fool not just leave me in peace? I wonder what bloody stupid ideas he has now. Nothing pleasant for me, so much is for sure._

"I'll make one or two things perfectly clear, right at the beginning of these blasted two months," Vernon was saying, as soon as Harry had entered the living room. "I'm not going to tolerate any funny business from you. No visits of your weirdo friends, either. And you'll have to earn your living, too. You'll work in the garden and round the house, and do whatever we tell you to do. It's high time you do something to pay back the generous spendings we have been lavishing on you all these years…"

_Generous spendings!_ Harry grinned bitterly and could only barely refrain from a sarcastic remark. _I'm just helping them out so they don't have to throw away Dudley's old rags…_

"Have I made myself perfectly clear, boy?"

"Yes, uncle Vernon."

Dudley, who had been clearly enjoying this, was smirking broadly.

"You might start tomorrow with cleaning up my room," he gloated. "Oh, please, Dad, make him clean up my room!"

"All right, Dud," Vernon seemed to enjoy the idea, too. "That room of yours needs a going-over, anyway, or so your mother tells me."

Dudley's smirk almost split his face in half by now. "Thanks Dad!" And to Harry he said, "You'll start as soon as I get up for breakfast, and take care not to break anything, unless you want your ass kicked!"

Harry's stomach was rumbling by now,- he had not eaten anything since the handful of chocolate frogs on the train, and that had been some time around ten in the morning,- but he would sooner have starved than asked his uncle for some food.

"Can I go to my room now?"

"Yes, and don't forget I want my breakfast at seven sharp tomorrow morning. I'm leaving early to see an important customer."

"Yes, uncle Vernon."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Oh, Gabie, it's such a mystery to me!" Fleur said to her sister, when they were finally alone in the older girl's room. "How did she change like that? It's only a week, isn't it, that she left me, over in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, where she barely looked at me, and now… She's so completely different! It's almost frightening!"

"I don't understand it myself; she was like always for three or four days after I returned with her. Distant, and not paying attention to me, not talking of you either, most of the time busy somewhere else, I hardly ever saw her at all… Then grandma arrived, and, I do believe that's when she changed, became like she is now. Now, I'm not complaining, of course not, but I agree, there's something very strange about it… But,- well, let's just enjoy it while we can, shall we?"

"You are clever as always, Gabie. And Morgaine knows I can use anything to cheer me up!"

"Oh, yes, of course. Tell me, what happened after I left?"

"Cedric,- I shouldn't be telling you this, it's supposed to be a secret, but,- you are my sister, so what? Well, Cedric isn't really dead. Wait, I said 'not really', didn't I? It seems the curse missed or was deflected or something, and now he is something like Petrified, only much worse, and nobody knows what to do about it… but there is hope, at any rate."

"That's something, I believe. But, what about HIM?"

"Ah, Gabie! Imagine, we kissed!"

"You kissed him before, didn't you?"

"But we REALLY kissed this time! And he feels the same as I do!"

"But that's lovely! You've been waiting for this to happen for months!"

The little girl's face that had been beaming with joy suddenly turned serious.

"And now you don't know how you'll ever live through the summer without seeing him."

"AND through next year! I'll have to do one more year of school, don't you forget it! _Merde_! What if something happens to him, and I'll not even be near him? What…"

Fleur's voice choked in a sob. Gabrielle put her arms round her soothingly.

"Things will work out," she whispered. "I know this is something special you are having here, and that's why I'm sure everything will be all right."

She jumped down from the sofa they were sitting on.

"Do you know, she gave me a broom for my ninth birthday! So why don't we go for a spin round the park? It will do you good!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry's rumbling stomach kept him awake for some time. He had managed to sneak down to the kitchen to get a sandwich and a glass of milk after the Dursleys had gone to bed, but it was far from enough to appease his hunger. But finally he fell asleep in spite of it.

He found himself in the dark graveyard that he knew only too well, he watched the Dark Lord rise from the cauldron, and he heard Wormtail say the curse. He had been dreaming the same dream for the last couple of days, and had always woken with a scream. This time, however, when the first sound of the curse was uttered, there was a powerful swish of wings and a white owl flew straight into his tormentor's face, who vanished in a bright light.

Suddenly there was no owl any more, SHE was there, in front of him, her beautiful face, those fascinating deep blue eyes, the silver aureole of her hair enveloped him, her lips were coming nearer...

He couldn't have said what had woken him up, but he sat up in his bed, for a moment at a loss where he was and what was going on.

"So typical, Hedwig," he said to his owl that seemed to be watching him from her perch on top of the wardrobe. "There I seem to be having my first good dream for I don't know how long, and then of course, I wake just when it starts getting interesting."

Hedwig gave a low hoot, as if listening.

"Do you know," Harry continued. "She looked exactly like you, when she flew at that blighter Wormtail. In fact, I thought it WAS you... Before she told me, of course... Weird, isn't it? I wonder will I ever see her again? I already feel like I'm missing something, like I'm not complete... She'll be with that awful mother of hers... And she'll have another year of school to do... Merlin knows what can happen in such a long time... sounds so far away and long ago, somehow.. Was it really only a few days ago? Fire and water... Do you think there's really something to it? Are we meant to...? Is this a real prophecy? There must be something behind it, Hedwig, I mean, why else would a girl like her get involved with a guy like me? "Little boy," she called me, when she first noticed me... How embarrassed I was when she caught me polishing my wand... And how I felt sorry for her when she all but panicked before going out to meet that dragon... And the first time she kissed me, down at the lake... I wouldn't have been surprised if there had smoke been coming out my ears... "I deserved zero," she said.... The fun we had flying... the way she hexed flowers on to Malfoy's head... Sirius likes her, too, and he hardly likes anybody... And then, in that maze,... She saved my neck there, I'm sure... but perhaps, if the Skrewt had got me... Cedric would have taken the Cup on his own... perhaps they'd not have hurt him... No, I can't seriously wish for that, we'd never have kissed then... Wonder what she's doing now, if she's thinking of me... perhaps I'll dream of her again?"

Gradually, Harry's eyes drooped, and he drifted off to sleep again. His sleep was perfectly dreamless, however.


	2. Twinkle, twinkle, little star

A/N: Well, my friends, here is the next chapter, and I have tried to put some space in between the two POVs. Hope it works. Let me say right away that those who want action will be a bit disappointed, and those who complained about there being "way too much sap" will probably find more to criticise here (Merlin, just look at the title!). Thank you all for your wonderful reviews, I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate them. There are a few very interesting ideas, too, but of course I'm not telling you which ones I'm going to use, it would spoil all the fun.

**Magic Crystal Rose, WickerB – **Yes, I'm definitely planning to have the Dursleys meet Fleur, it's just too good fun to miss.

**Korifi** and all others who wonder about Mme Delacour's sudden change of heart –of course there's something behind it, just wait and you'll find out!

**Jon3776-** Naturally it has to be more or less A/U, but I'm going to follow some of the main ideas of OoP

**SilverMoonset**** – **Yes, my computer always asks me about that spelling, too. "Bearableness" what a word!!

**Desert Fox** – I may be dense, but I just have no idea what you are talking about most of the time. And if there's way too much sap, how come it's still a fantastic story?

**KarlaBob** – Thanks an awful lot for pointing all this out. I imagine Vernon, when he feels especially spiteful, will use the m-word to annoy Harry, knowing full well he can't do anything. But I see your point about Dudley, who is basically a coward. And I agree with the bitch-slapping, too, it's something Petunia would do, rather. Also, I'll try to stay away from parentheses J

**Panuru4u –** Yes, I sure am excited about writing this, this has a way of getting addictive.

**LT2000** – Thank you very much for all the ideas, and for clearing up the email thingy. I'll mail you some time soon.

Enough rambling, on with the story:

**Chapter 2 - Twinkle, twinkle, little star**

A couple of days had passed uneventfully. Although her mother was still nice to her in that unusual way ("weird" she called it to herself when she lay awake in the evenings, thinking of Harry), and she loved being with Gabrielle and enjoyed the company of her grandmother, Fleur's mood was not a happy one. It was true, the first black depression and loneliness had dissipated, but the numb feeling of emptiness was still there. So it was with some mixed emotions that she looked forward to the visit of Margaux and Iphigenie.

_They'll cheer me up, of course, but seeing them so happy together – how will I bear it?_

She had of course told her mother about the impending visit of her friends, and, quite in keeping with her new treatment of Fleur, she had been delighted.

"I do understand, _cherie_," she said to her daughter, who, still not used to this, looked at her in surprise, "you will want the company of your peers and friends… So tell them they can stay as long as they like. When are you expecting them?"

"_Merci__, maman,_" Fleur was almost speechless. "What day is it today? Thursday? They said they'd come Friday noon."

"I'll order the house-elves to have everything ready," Isabeau said and left the room.

On Friday, when the Delacour women were all assembled at the luncheon table, there was a sudden plop, and then a second one, and Margaux and Iphigenie Apparated.

"_Bon jour,_" they said cheerfully, and then curtsied gracefully to Isabeau. But then they dropped the formalities and rushed over to Fleur, who had stood up from her chair in surprise, wrapping her in a great hug.

"But- I thought you were travelling by floo powder?"

"Not any more," Margaux said in a mock-haughty voice. "We got our Apparating licence yesterday! So no more dirty chimneys for US!"

"But, - when did you learn all the stuff?"

"They offer it as an option during seventh year in school. Oh, I forget, of course you didn't have it in sixth."

"But you are already old enough, aren't you? And you've got time now, too, so why not study and take the test as soon as possible? We'll help you studying." Iphigenie, ever-practical, suggested.

"Oh, yes, what a great idea! Can I, _maman_?"

"I don't see why not. There will surely be a way for you take the test down in the village. How neglectful of Madame Maxime, she did know you were seventeen, why did she not as you?"

So they agreed that Fleur would start studying and take the test.

"It's not so hard, really," Margaux said, "Just a couple of spells, and wandwork. Most is theory; I have no idea why they expect you to know about molecular teleportation graphs and things, it's no practical use whatsoever. You'll see, Apparating is much better than floo powder!"

"And it doesn't make your robes dirty, too," Isabeau added.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You, boy!" Vernon barked at supper, three or four days after Harry's return from Hogwarts. "This stupid storehouse worker of mine fell from a ladder today and twisted his ruddy ankle. He'll be off work for some three weeks. As I'm not going to hire some help and pay them an outrageous sum, YOU will take that job for as long as it's necessary. You will go with me to the site in the car tomorrow morning, so I can show you the ropes. But don't think I'll give you a ride every day! You can take Dud's old bike. Understand me?"

"Yes, uncle Vernon."

"And don't expect me to pay you anything," Vernon added with a vicious grin. "I have to pay that idiot's wages, as it is."

"No, uncle Vernon."

After Harry had cleaned up the supper table and taken out the rubbish bin, he could finally go to his room.

"You know," he said to Hedwig, to whom he had started to talk more and more frequently since his return, "he thinks he is annoying me with that job. But he's wrong. It's a lot better than having to do their stupid household chores, which I sometimes believe they invent just to make me angry. I mean, who else would have their one-inch lawn mowed every bloody single day? So this job of his at least gets me out of the house, and away from my charming relatives. It will certainly take my mind off all those things, and I might even meet a couple of interesting people…"

As usual, Hedwig was sitting on his shoulder, nibbling at his ear affectionately, and with a bit of imagination she almost looked as if she was listening.

Next morning, after breakfast (which had been made by Harry, of course), Vernon took him to his factory in the car. As usual, there was a lot of commuter traffic, and Vernon's temper was quite high when they finally reached the site.

The foreman of the storehouse was a short fat balding man with a jolly grin and a surprisingly firm handshake.

"I'll show him around, boss," he said to Vernon, after he had told him what Harry was supposed to be doing, "come along, son."

And while Vernon, looking slightly disappointed, stomped up the stairs to his office, the foreman turned to Harry.

"Tough customer, your uncle, son. Don't worry, this isn't going to be too hard a job, although he likes to thin it is, and why should we disillusion him? I'm Anthony Figg, by the way, you can call me Tony…"

"Figg? We have a neighbour of that name, - Arabella Figg, - she used to babysit for me when I was little,…"

"Right, son, she's my sister. Told me about you, actually. So I know all about you…"

It might have been Harry's imagination, but he thought that Tony had put some stress on the word 'all', but he did not say anything.

"Ok, so let me show you this place and what you'll have to do…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Now, _ma petite,_" Vivienne said to her granddaughter, when she ran across her in the hall, after she had been studying for the Apparating test, which was due in two days. "Why don't you and I not go for a nice walk in the park, and you tell me everything about your time at Hogwarts, and the Tournament, and – Harry Potter?"

Before Fleur could say anything, she hooked her arm in hers and pulled her out of the house into the sunlit park.

_Oh, I knew she'd want to know about everything. What will I tell her, now? But if I can't trust HER, then who is there to trust? It's a relief, in a way, to be able to tell someone…_

So she told her grandmother, who was listening intently.

"Well done!" she exclaimed when she heard about the dragon, and when Fleur told her of the Yule Ball and Roger's betrayal of her trust, she muttered something unintelligible and pressed her hand.

"He doesn't know how lucky he is, and he certainly doesn't deserve it," she said, anger in her voice.

"What do you mean, grandma?"

"I'll tell you later," she replied evasively. "Just continue your story."

So Fleur went on. When it came to Harry saving the egg for Fleur, Vivienne interrupted again.

"I can hardly believe it! How can anyone be so fast?"

"I'm telling you, Gran, Harry isn't anyone," Fleur's eyes were sparkling as she said it, and her grandmother couldn't miss how her whole face lit up. "I'd not believe it, either, if it hadn't happened to myself."

She proceeded to the second task. "Of course it was silly, and she wasn't in any danger ever, but I was so happy he had pulled her out of that horrible lake, I kissed him…"

"You kissed him? Vivienne's tone was suddenly fully alert. "Tell me exactly how it happened."

Fleur looked at her in surprise, but complied. "Nothing much to tell. I took his head in both my hands and kissed each of his cheeks – twice. Then I kissed Ron, too, the same way, but only once. He hadn't really done anything, of course, but I got carried away, see?" She finished somewhat embarrassed by her grandmother's inquisitive look. "Why are you asking? You sound as if it was important."

"Too true it is," Vivienne said gravely. "Tell me, did you notice any changes after those kisses?"

"No…, wait, yes, there didn't seem to be any charm about me any more… you know, that annoying way all the boys got turned into dithering idiots when they looked at me? It was suddenly gone… Do you think…?"

"It certainly seems so. I can't think of any other explanation. You know the basic facts about Veela and the importance of their kisses, I believe? Yes? Well, you're only quarter, and it's very hard to tell exactly, but if I guess correctly, you can consider yourself lucky you didn't kiss that other boy first…"

Fleur paled. "You mean… I'd have been magically linked to HIM? Ron the Moron?"

Her grandmother grinned at her. "I'm not saying it would have been inevitable, but who knows… However, Veela have a very sensitive feeling for this kind of thing… no, I don't think there was ever any danger. But pray continue your report."

Again, Vivienne listened attentively without any interruptions, through Gabie's adventures in the Forbidden Forest, and the mysterious event of the botched April Fool's joke.

"And do you have any idea what it might mean?" she asked, looking at her granddaughter shrewdly. "I mean, it's clear you're the scorpion, but what is your idea about fire and water?"

_She'd look right through me if I lied to her, and anyway, why should I._

"I think it means Harry and me," Fleur said, her voice slightly shaking. She watched her grandmother intently. "He is a fire sign, and I'm water…" she finished, suddenly unsure of her self.

"Good thinking," her grandmother said, smiling at her warmly. "Of course we can't ever be QUITE sure with prophecies, but it would certainly suggest itself. I sense you are not exactly averse to the idea, are you?"

Fleur blushed profusely.

"Don't answer, _cherie_, I can see it for myself. Well, who knows, perhaps you'll meet again sooner than you imagine… but please, continue."

"He used Cruciatus on you?" she asked in a shocked tone when Fleur told her about the third task. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure how it worked, I left my body and suddenly I was an owl and in that horrible churchyard… Oh grandma, do you think I can learn to be an owl on purpose?"

"I'm sure you will. It seems it was your way of escape, which is a very rare ability in witches. Of course, what with your Veela blood, it's only natural you become a bird…"

"Grandma, YOU can turn into a bird. Can't you teach me?"

"I don't know if I'll be able to… but I'll try. After all, you have done it once, so why shouldn't you do it again? But tell me what happened after that unfortunate task?"

Fleur blushed again, even deeper than before.

"I can imagine, dear. You kissed in earnest, didn't you? And now you miss him horribly… Yes, something of the old magic is probably still at work… Don't give up hope, I'll see if I can help you."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry had come to rather like his work at his uncle's factory. There were some days, of course, when a lorry or two had to be loaded or unloaded, and then there were quite a lot of crates and boxes to be lifted and stacked, and then his arms and back ached. But then Tony, who he had quickly come to like a lot, gave him a bottle of strong smelling stuff to rub on, and the pains were gone next morning.

"It's something my sister mixes for me," Tony told him, grinning. "I don't believe in the modern chemical rubbish they sell you in the pharmacies for loads of money. Give me good old home-made witch's balm any day."

Harry's breath caught.

"Witch's balm?"

"Yes, that's what she calls it. You know, all those herbs and things, a recipe that's been in the family four ages, and that works miracles… especially as long as you believe in it," he finished with a smirk. "Why are you looking at me so strangely?"

"Nothing," Harry said hurriedly.

_Silly of me. Of course that's what any muggle would say about a mysterious ointment of herbs…_

True to his word, Vernon had never taken Harry to the plant in his car again, so he had gone there on Dudley's old rusty bike and back again. He quite enjoyed the ride, especially in the evening, when the air was still warm, and most of the traffic had disappeared. And the best thing was that he could take his time and get to the Dursleys' house (he never called it 'home' to himself) a lot later than would have been necessary.

"Sorry Uncle Vernon," he would say, smiling innocently, when his uncle remonstrated with him about being late again. "But the old bike had another breakdown. What can I do? Of course, it you bought me a new one…"

At which Vernon usually went purple, muttered something and dropped the topic. It never entered his head to wonder why the bike never broke down during Harry's morning rides.

Harry's nights were usually less pleasant; his dreams kept revolving around Cedric being hit by the curse, or Voldemort rising from the cauldron, and to his disappointment, Fleur had not appeared in any of them again.

"I shouldn't wonder if she's forgotten about me already," he said to Hedwig, after having woken from a particularly nasty nightmare. "Those prophecies are often plain rubbish, just think of old Trelawney… So why not this one, too? But then… I can still feel her kissing me… and the smell of her hair… No, I can't believe it was just pity… it felt like so much more…"

Feeling he wouldn't be able to go to sleep anyway, and a glance at his clock telling him it was still some three hours until breakfast, he quietly got dressed and sneaked out of his room, past the door behind which he heard the rough snores of his uncle, down the stairs, and silently out of the house, into the street, where the first faint morning dawn was already starting, more to be sensed than actually seen. He wandered along the deserted street until he reached the tiny park in the centre of the roundabout at its end, where he sat down on the only bench that an uncaring city planner had put there.

With a heavy sigh, he leaned back, stretched his legs and looked up at the sky, which was still velvety black, with the first tinges of blue and turquoise over the row of houses. Slowly the stars faded, until there was only one bright light up in the ever-brightening blue, and his eyes locked on that lonely star…

A faint smell of lilacs was in the air, his vision went foggy, and then there were two deep blue eyes, drawing him towards them, a flurry of silver, and then the sensation of sweet soft lips on his own, arms around his neck, fingers in his hair, a tongue touching his lips…

With a shock, Harry came to himself. He was on the park bench, alone, no person in sight, as far as he could see.

_What was that? It – it must have been a dream… but- it felt so – so real…Silly, of course, must have kind of hypnotized myself, looking at that star… where is it, anyway? Gone, of course, morning's too bright already… wonder what star it was… should have paid more attention in Astrology…Really, it didn't feel like a dream at all…_

Reluctantly, he got up from the bench to go back and prepare breakfast.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

All Fleur's family except her mother, who had urgent business in Paris, and her two friends were eagerly waiting outside the Apparation test office. At last, the door opened, and Fleur came out. They all leapt from their seats excitedly.

"And-" Margaux began, but a look at her friend's face told her that she had passed.

"Wonderful!" she shouted, and together they almost crushed her in their hugs. Only Gabrielle looked a bit sad, as she was the only one who still had to wait several years until she would also get her licence.

"Don't worry, _ma petite_," said Fleur, bending down to her. "I promise to take you with me now and then. Where do we all want to go now? I need to practise my new freedom!"

They decided to have a picnic in the park of Versailles, as it was another beautiful day. The house-elves produced a wonderful basket of the most delicious food in no time, and presently they appeared with a series of low plops at the far end of the spacious baroque gardens. A group of Japanese tourists looked in astonishment at the four women and the little girl that had suddenly appeared in front of them, and started chatting excitedly.

"Oops," Fleur was taken aback. She had not expected to materialise right in front of a number of muggles, and was at a loss what to do now. Luckily, Iphigenie had enough presence of mind.

"Obliviate!" She said quickly, and the excited chatter stopped immediately, a blank expression floated across the tourists' faces, and then they turned away, taking their photos and talking among themselves as they had before.

"Good work," Vivienne said appreciatively. "This is one of the drawbacks of Apparating; you never know who sees you materialising, and then you have to be quick with your forgetting spell. Do they teach you that in the course at school? Clever of them."

"I'll remember it," Fleur muttered. "But let's find a place for our picnic!"

Soon they were seated on a blanket in the lawn near a large fountain, examining the basket.

"Ahh, what a change from English cooking!" Margaux said, helping herself to _pate au canard_, "That was what I missed most, over in foggy old Scotland!"

"It wasn't as foggy as all that," Fleur corrected gently, "but I agree about the food. Still…"

"There's something missing, I understand," Vivienne said sympathetically, "but I'll see what I can do to help, I promise you."

In spite of Fleur feeling still miserable, they passed an enjoyable afternoon in the park. Once, an elderly American couple even insisted of taking a picture of Fleur and her two relatives, in front of the palace, as they were so 'cute and old-fashioned European'.

"Oh please, let's do it!" Gabrielle said, giggling, "I've never been photographed by muggles before! Do their pictures really not move?"

"Let's just hope they don't understand French," Margaux said in a whisper, but she had to grin widely in spite of herself.

"Don't worry," Vivienne, who was equally enjoying herself, told them. Americans don't speak languages, even hardly their own, quite often. And even if they did, they'd just think muggles was one of those weird European things not worth bothering." And to the two tourists she said in perfect English (Queen's English, actually):

"You are very welcome. I do hope you find your stay in France enjoyable."

_She must have switched on the Veela charm without knowing it, the poor guy is completely speechless and his eyes are almost popping out. But it does look quite funny…_

The American woman, after a look at her husband, seemed to regret asking, and took her pictures only rather perfunctorily. Then she grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the scene, looking grim.

"Oh, grandma!" Gabrielle was beside herself with laughter. "Did you-, I mean… the charm…" She couldn't finish her sentence, shrieking with delight.

Vivienne looked smug.

"I may perhaps have given him a tiny little look… Just wanted to see if I could still do it…"

"Let me assure you, madame, you can!" Iphigenie, herself somewhat glassy-eyed, told her, at which Vivienne suddenly turned serious. "I'm so sorry _cherie_ I completely forgot… I really didn't want it to affect you, honestly! You see," she turned to Fleur, "this is just a tiny little example of what the Veela charm can do. You need to be extremely careful with it."

"Don't you worry, grandma, it's vanished."

"Oh yes, you told me about it... but I am not so sure it's gone for good, perhaps it is just hidden and you can find it again…"

"But, grandma, I'm not sure I want it back! It just made me unhappy, and I'm quite glad it's gone!"

"Don't speak so lightly of nature's gift! The thing with charms is to learn to control them, not getting rid of them… Come to terms with who you are instead of fighting it! Don't worry, we'll find out about that together. I see there's quite a lot of work for me…"

When dusk began to gather, Margaux and Iphigenie, who had been keeping even closer together after the taste of the Veela charm, Apparated back to their Montmartre flat, and the others also returned home.

"We'll work on your problem first thing tomorrow morning," Vivienne told Fleur before the three vanished with the typical plopping noise.

Fleur was dreaming… She was back in the lake at Hogwarts, and time was running short. She knew she was looking for something, but she couldn't remember what. She only knew she had to find it, and find it soon, or something dreadful would happen. And suddenly she wasn't in the lake any more but in the graveyard, and horrible red eyes were staring at her. And she saw a huge black shadow bending over Harry Potter's prostrate form. With a scream she woke.

After she had found her bearings, she got out of bed, still shaking, and stumbled over to the open window. Outside, the park was still dark, although the first tinges of dawn were already colouring the sky above the black trees.

Feeling certain she would not be able to go to sleep again any time soon, she walked over to the door, but then checked herself.

"Silly me!" she chided herself, and Apparated down onto the lawn. The dewy grass was cool against her bare feet, but the air was mild with a faint scent of roses, and she did not feel cold in her night dress as she slowly walked across the lawn to sit down on a wooden bench under a rose bus.

The sky was slowly turning from dark blue to turquoise and the first pink streaks appeared on the horizon. The stars faded one by one, until finally only one was there shining. Dreamily, she gazed up to it.

Her vision went foggy, and then there were deep emerald eyes, drawing her towards them, the sensation of slightly rough dry lips on her own, a hand caressing her back, and another in her hair, a tongue touching her lips…

With a shock, Fleur came to, to find herself sitting on the bench in _Parc__ Delacour_, on her own again, with no hint of what had just happened.

Unable to think clearly, she just looked up at the sky again, where the last star was finally fading in the rosy morning light.

"Oh my," she said softly to herself, as she realised what star it was.

Reluctantly, she rose to return to the mansion.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/Q(uestion): So which star was it?


	3. My baby wrote me a letter

**A/N:** Welcome to the next chapter! Again, thanks for all the great reviews and the interesting ideas. I can't tell you how much I appreciate them! This chapter does not have too much action, but there's some information about the Veela powers that is perhaps of interest. The next chapter will be more of everything, fluff and action, I promise! My compliment to those who guessed that they were both looking at Venus, the Morning Star. (Of course, technically it's a planet, but it LOOKS like a star, doesn't it?)

**Chapter 3 – My Baby Sent Me a Letter**

"Now, _ma petite_," Vivienne Delisle said to her granddaughter, "I think it's time to look after your education… your mother seems to have neglected it rather sadly, if you ask me."

"What do you mean, grandma?"

"Your Veela heritage, of course. I'm afraid she's somewhat embarrassed by not being pure-blood, and has been trying to ignore her ancestry. Which is quite the wrong attitude, naturally. You know I've always told you to accept who and what you are, it's the only way…

Well, whatever- as I see it, there are two things at issue for you. You need to learn how to transform into your bird, - it won't do if it just happens accidentally,- and we ought to look into that vanished Veela charm of yours, too…"

"But, grandma, I told you I don't want it back!"

"Nonsense, child!" her grandmother told her sternly. "It would be quite foolish to reject something that is, after all, part of your nature. Besides," she added with a sly grin, "it can come in quite handy on occasion... If you know how to use it, that is. But anyway, we must find out if it's still there…"

"Well, if you say so…" Fleur said doubtfully.

"Indeed, I do. Now let me see… The original Veela ability, that is the natural animagus capacity, is not limited to a specific species of bird. Full Veela like me can transform into any kind of bird they wish, it just depends on their mood and state of mind. So, if I am happy and content, I may choose to be a phoenix…"

She demonstrated it to Fleur, who had never seen her do this before and gaped at her open-mouthed.

"Or, when I'm particularly furious," her grandmother continued, having turned back to her human form, " I might become harpy or some other similarly unpleasant creature. As I am not furious at the moment, you'll just have to believe me without seeing me actually do it. It's not a nice sight, anyway, or so I have been told. Also, if the feeling is especially strong, I may even transform without intending to. I can tell you, there have been some narrow escapes…"

"Oh, grandma, I never knew all these things. Why have you never told me before?"

"There was no point in it earlier. Part-Veela/part-human characteristics are usually different for each individual. Sometimes one or the other part has the upper hand; and anyway, as long as you had not reached a certain basis in your personality development, there was no way to tell anything definite. Now it seems this stage has finally been reached. Your inborn Veela charm that used to annoy you so much seems to have gone, and this is, as I think, a sign that you are ready to start taking control of your inherited powers. Transforming is one, the deliberate control and use of the Charm is the other, and I believe they are both there and just need to be re-discovered. Now, which one do you want to go looking for first?"

"Transforming," Fleur said without hesitation

"Fine. You've told me you have already tried this before. Apparently, your bird is the white owl. Now, we cannot be sure at this stage, if this will remain the only bird form you can change to, there may be other choices, when you have grasped the essentials. However, as the owls seems to suit you best, we'll start with it. You say you've been trying this using a toy model?"

"Yes, but it was not any use."

"Not surprisingly. It was rather a small model, wasn't it. This may be more help, look here…"

And she turned into a full-size snowy white owl and perched on the back of the chair she had been sitting in.

Fleur stared at the bird trying her best not to blink for as long as she could manage until she thought the image was secure in her mind. Then she closed her eyes tightly and tried to imagine herself in the same form. She thought she felt some sort of tingling in her arms, but this might just as well have come from the cramped posture she was sitting in. Otherwise, she did not notice any change. Annoyed she opened her eyes again.

Her grandmother had changed to her normal form again and was sitting in the chair facing her, smiling.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. I thought there was some prickling in my arms, but I'm not even sure of that… Oh why don't I have that necklace any more? I'm sure it would have helped!"

"Anything you believe in helps." Vivienne stated dryly. "But no, the real Veela powers work without any instrument. No stones, no wands, just the strength of your mind. Why use crutches if you can fly?"

"Oh, grandma, it's all very well for you to talk. But how will I ever…?"

"There's only one way. Try, and try again, and again…"

About one hour later, Fleur threw up her hands, exasperated.

"It doesn't work! I feel as if I was full of feathers already, but look at me, no change at all!"

"Patience, child! This is hard work for you, I know. And I know, too, that you are tired. So let's stop this for now and work on it again in the afternoon. You see, I don't believe you are motivated well enough for this, in this melancholy mood of yours. Perhaps you can think about this… Find some reason why you would really, really want to learn this… you'll manage at last, I guarantee."

And with these words, she changed into a colourful bird of paradise and flew out the window.

Frustrated, Fleur banged her head against the back of her chair.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What's the matter, son?" Tony Figg asked Harry when he found him sitting on the rickety old chair in front of the storehouse, gazing into space absentmindedly.

Harry started and went a deep shade of red.

"Nothing, no, nothing…" he stammered.

"Come on, son, don't you tell me it's nothing. Everybody can see it's not true." He looked at Harry inquiringly, then smiled broadly. "Girl trouble?"

If possible, Harry went still redder than he was already.

"Umph," he said.

"Thought so," Tony replied, putting a calming hand on Harry's shoulder. "Experienced a thing or two in my time, believe me. Still remember the signs, though you'd not think it, looking at me. I'd say you've got it bad, son. Want to tell me about her? Don't think your uncle would be willing to listen, would he?"

_What can I tell him? I can't go around telling muggles about the tournament, can I? But I so want to talk to someone…_

"Wrong, Tony," he said grimly. "The point is I'd sooner die than tell HIM… But…" he paused uncertainly.

"Come on," Tony repeated reassuringly. "What harm could there be in telling me? It will make you feel better, if nothing else. Perhaps I can even give you some advice, you never know."

Harry took a deep breath.

"All right. There's that girl I met at my school,- a – a foreign exchange student, see…"

"They have foreign exchange programmes at St. Brutus'? Are you having me on?"

"Oh dear, I forgot, whatever must you think of me…" more embarrassed than ever, Harry's voice rose. "I'm not at a school for young criminals, if that's what you mean… it's a lie my uncle tells. Don't ask me why, because he hates me, I guess… No, my school is a boarding school in Scotland… eh- I don't think you'll know it, it's a very small school… My parents left me some money to pay for it… You do believe me, do you?" he ended almost desperately. He had come to like and respect Tony during the last couple of days, and his opinion meant a lot to him, a lot more than that of all the Dursleys together.

"Calm down, son, of course I do," Tony said quietly. "Just so like your uncle, isn't it? Well, go on, so there is this girl,- where is she from by the way?"

Harry heaved a great sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Tony, it's great you trust me. She's from France… the prettiest girl you can imagine… but- but she's almost three years older than me… I could hardly believe it when she,- when we…"

"Kissed?"

"Yes… and… now I'm back I've started thinking… I mean, a girl like her… what does she see in me? There must be millions of guys, good-looking, rich, smart… they must be queuing for a date with her, and- well, look at me… it seems so absurd now…"

And indeed he looked quite pathetic in his baggy jeans, held in place by a shabby belt round his waist, and the shapeless, washed-out T-shirt, hand-me-downs of Dudley's.

Tony didn't say a word, just looked at him encouragingly.

"And this morning,- I couldn't sleep and was up early,- I had a – a dream… I felt her presence, and I imagined that she was kissing me… which is nonsense, of course… Well, that's my story. Sorry for bothering you with it."

"You're welcome, Harry. I don't know if it will help, but it's the normal story; happens millions of times, first teenage crush, and so on…"

_But it didn't feel like a simple crush!_

"Anyway," Tony went on, "I expect you've written her a letter?"

Harry blushed once again, this time with anger at himself.

"You haven't? You've just been moping around all these days? When they say love blurs your reason, they don't mean it like that! Now, I want you to promise me that you'll write that girl a long nice letter first thing when you get home this evening. And if your uncle gives you any trouble about posting it, give it to me and I'll see to it. And now get out of that blue funk of yours and help me with these crates!"

"Thanks, Tony. You are a great friend."

"Don't mention it."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Fleur had been staring out of her window, watching the last colours of the day fade into the velvety darkness of the southern French night, seeing the first star light in the sky, her thoughts wandering.

The soft hoot of an owl brought her back from her reverie. Focusing, she saw –

"Oh, it's you!" she exclaimed happily after she had overcome her first shock. "Helen, was it?"

The owl hooted angrily. "Sorry, something with H, … oh, Hedwig! You have a letter from him?"

The owl offered her leg, and Fleur untied the scroll of parchment, starting to open it eagerly.

Hedwig gave another impatient hoot.

"Oh, I suppose you want your treat, don't you? Let me see- I'm afraid there's not much I've got… Can you wait a moment, I'll- yes… Dang it all, I keep forgetting I can do this now…"

She Apparated down to the kitchen and was back almost immediately with a plate of assorted meats.

"Here you are, _bon appetit_, you will be hungry after your long journey." And while Hedwig was attacking her supper, she turned again to Harry's letter.

_Dear Fleur,_

_I really don't know how to begin this. And, to be honest, I don't know how to go on, and I don't know how to finish either. This doesn't make sense, you say? No, I expect it doesn't. But I'm in a state of mind where I'm afraid I'm unable to think clearly…Do you know, I didn't even think of writing to you, a friend of mine had to tell me I should…_

_A friend? Yes, I've found a friend, my first friend in the muggle world! But let me begin at the beginning. The Dursleys are as nasty as ever, as you can imagine, and made me do the most stupid chores all over the house, just out of spite; but then that worker at my uncle's factory broke his leg, or something, and he made me take his job while he's away. He's not paying me anything, of course. But at the job, I got to know Tony, the foreman, and he has been very nice to me all these days. He's a muggle, of course, so I can't tell him much about myself, but he's the only one who will listen to anything I say. So today I told him about you, and here is why:_

_Just imagine what happened this morning! I was sitting in that small park,- I couldn't sleep, you see,- and was looking at that star… and suddenly I had the strangest feeling, I saw your eyes, your beautiful eyes, and I felt you kissing me! It was so real! I don't know how it happened, and it lasted for a few seconds only, but I almost believe it was no dream, something seems to have been going on… But what?_

_Oh Fleur, are you still thinking of me at all? That prophecy sounds so far away and absurd now,- fire and water IS absurd, isn't it? Sometimes I just can't imagine why a girl like you should even look at me twice…Perhaps what you felt for me was just pity? I could understand if it was. I'm just a little boy, you said so yourself, remember? And I'm not altogether safe to have as a friend, either. So if you are a sensible girl, you'll pretend you never met me._

_But whatever you do, I want you to know that it was great, and I wouldn't miss it for anything, even if we should never ever see each other again._

_I know this is quite a depressive piece of ranting, but I think there's no use at all pretending I'm in a happy-go-lucky mood. I trusted you when we were in those tasks, and I'm not going to stop now._

_Love (???-I told you I didn't know how to finish this!)_

_Harry_

_PS: My dreams are just as bad as ever, only a lot more so._

"Oh Harry!" Fleur whispered. Tears were streaming down her face as she dropped the letter. "We looked at the same star! If you only knew! We looked at Venus at the same time, and we had the same experience! And you have doubts about the prophecy? If I could only go and see you!"

After another moment's hesitation, she told Hedwig to wait and not to go back to her master right away, and then Apparated to her grandmother's room in the other wing of the mansion.

"Grandma!" she began without any preliminaries. "I believe I'm motivated enough now, as you said I ought to be, so can we please take up practising,- NOW!"

"What happened?" Vivienne asked, surprised and slightly amused at Fleur's impatience. "Why the hurry?"

So Fleur had to tell her about Harry's letter. "And I can't wait to go and tell him how blind he is being… I'm sure when he hears about this morning, he'll have not doubts anymore… And I want him to stop being so miserable!"

"That's the spirit," Vivienne said approvingly. "So let's begin…"


	4. One Summer Sunday Morning

Hello, here I am again, for those who found the last chapter a bit lacking in action, here is some at last! More on the humorous side, to be sure, and no DE's or anything, but I do hope you like it nevertheless. Although the fluffy side of things is developing a bit… Thanks for all the lovely reviews, and keep them coming, they are a writer's food and nourishment.

Chapter 4 – One Summer Sunday Morning

"Crucio!" The cold voice hissed and the hooded figure of the death eater crumpled, screaming and writhing in pain at the feet of his master. A mirthless laugh, and Voldemort turned his horrible red eyes on Harry. He raised his wand- and Harry woke with a scream, like so many of the nights before.

Like so many nights before, he was soaked in cold sweat, and glanced around him wildly for a second or two until he realised that he was- like so many nights before- in his small bare room in the Dursleys' house. He didn't bother to check the time on his watch; it was still dark and the window outlined in a pale orange square, due to the street lamp directly in front of the house.

"Hedwig?" he asked into the darkness, and then remembered he had sent her off with the letter to Fleur. "She can't possibly be back yet," he muttered to himself. "Owls just can't fly that fast…"

Nevertheless, he got up from his bed after putting on his glasses, stretched, and walked over to the open window to look out at the deserted street, which looked a lot more peaceful than it actually was, what with all the quarrelling, lying and fighting going on behind the spotless facades.

A hooting sound drew his attention, and he raised his glance to the night sky.

"Hedwig?" he said, surprised. "How come you…"

He stopped, rubbing his eyes in surprise. "What in Merlin's-" he began. Indeed, it was no trick of the light or anything, there were definitely TWO snowy white owls approaching his window.

"Hedwig?" re said again, taking a step backwards to allow the birds to alight on the window sill. "What's the matter? How can you be back already, and what- who have you brought with you? In fact-" he looked from one bird to the other in amazement, "which of you IS Hedwig?"

The owl that had landed first ruffled her feathers in that familiar way that, as Harry knew from experience, indicated she was irritated or annoyed with something.

"YOU are Hedwig," he said triumphantly. "I'd now that expression everywhere. But then- who's your friend?"

Hedwig- if it was indeed her- clicked her beak angrily and flew over to her cage to perch on top of it. Now Harry had the chance to look at the second owl more closely. And now he realised that, although the two birds looked exactly alike, this one did not have Hedwig's yellow eyes. Even in the darkness of his room he could see that these eyes were of a deep blue, almost black, the colour of a clear night sky far away from the city.

"Eyes to get lost in," the thought flashed through his mind out of nowhere, as he gazed at the owl, fascinated.

And then realisation where he had seen these eyes before dawned on him.

"Fleur?"

He could not have put into words how it happened; how the bird started to change, how it grew in size, how the white feathers became a silver blonde mane of hair, how there was suddenly a slender body in white robes, how the sharp beak turned into the beautiful lips he remembered only too well. Only her amazing eyes never changed. There were tears shining in them.

Harry stared at her, transfixed, unable to move or to utter a sound.

With a small, birdlike sound, something between a sob and a gasp, she threw her arms around him; he woke from his trance and responded, holding her awkwardly, wondering if he was dreaming. Her hair cascaded around them as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Oh Harry," now her voice was really a sob. "How could you doubt? Do you know how that letter made me feel? Do you still not know you are not a 'little boy' to me, and will never be? That was a cruel thing to say in your letter – pity! Don't you know it's so much more? Oh, there were days when I thought I'd never see you again…"

"I'm so sorry," he managed to say hoarsely. "I didn't mean to… it's just… I don't know, I just feel- feel so small and unimportant, I can hardly believe anybody cares for me… and then- just look at you…"

She lifted her head from his shoulder, her lovely blue eyes looking deep into his.

"Shh," she said. "Not a word more. Harry, when will you learn not to take yourself down all the time? Don't you realise you are special? Special to the world-"she felt him recoil and added quickly, "but, most of all, special to me. You are unique to me, Harry, and I don't ever want to hear you doubt this!"

Her words came hurriedly, desperately, and her embrace tightened. He felt tears stinging in his eyes and he buried his face in her magnificent mane of silver, inhaling her faint smell of lilacs.

The feeling of her warm body so close led to inevitable reactions, just to be expected from a teenage boy, and his bed clothes only consisting of boxers and a T-shirt did not help to hide the fact. Embarrassed he drew back.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean to…"

She released him from her embrace and put her soft hand on his cheek, which felt hot to her touch. She was careful not to smile.

"I know, Harry," she said quietly. "It's only natural. And I believe I ought to feel flattered…" Now she could not hold back her smile any longer, but the awkward moment had passed and he could smile at her, too.

"I'm still not quite sure if I'm not dreaming," he said after a while, sitting down on the bed without taking his eyes off her face. "You know what tells me it's probably not a dream after all? I've not had a happy dream for ages… But- but tell me, how come you are here? I thought your mother wouldn't let you out of her sight once you were back home? And how- when did you learn to be an owl?"

Fleur sat down beside him, put an arm around him and rested his head on her shoulder. He let it happen willingly.

"I got your letter… and it made me want to be with you so much it hurt. And grandma- the full Veela, you know- taught me how to transform. And because I missed you so much, I could suddenly do it… And then I bullied Hedwig so that she'd lead me to you… She didn't like it at all; I'm afraid she's jealous of me." She giggled softly.

"Your grandmother? The one whose hair is in your wand?"

"Yes. You should really get to know her some day. She's a wonderful person. I don't know what I'd do without her."

"But- I only sent Hedwig off this evening, it can't have been more than seven or eight hours. And it must be a couple of thousands of miles to your place… Owls don't fly that fast, do they?"

"Magical owls can. Don't ask me how it works, something to do with interdimensional levels and things, I believe. Anyway, once I got the hang of this transformation business, it was simple. My grandmother will be so happy."

"And your mother? Is she still behaving horribly to you?"

"No. It's absolutely strange, but since my return she has changed completely. The prototype of the loving mother… I can't imagine what brought it about; grandma talked to her, I suppose, but can that talk have been so effective? I sometimes wonder if there might be some sinister purpose behind it all…"

_Shall I tell him about her and Wormtail? No, what's the use? It would just darken his mood…_

"I'm probably just being paranoid," she continued instead. "Why can't I just enjoy a good thing while I have it? Like being with you…"

"Well, I daresay you are right, but I'm sure I'd get suspicious if the Dursleys suddenly behaved like loving relatives…"

"The Dursleys? Oh, yes, those awful muggles. Are they still giving you a hard time?"

"Well, they've done worse… Look at this-" he pointed around the shabby room, "It's a spacious suite compared to the place I spent the first ten years of my life in. I ought to be content, I guess… And I do get food down in the kitchen, not through the cat-flap that they installed especially for that purpose… So, yes, it's not all that bad…"

"I do wish I could do something to help you!"

"I don't think there is anything… Wait-" a grin spread over his face. "Do you think you could just casually walk up to the door, ring the bell and ask to speak to me? Today's Sunday, so I don't have to go to the factory. It would be great fun to see their faces, especially Dudley's… If it's not too much bother for you, of course. And I have to warn you, they are not exactly the nicest people on earth."

Fleur giggled quietly.

"This sounds good indeed. Let's have a bit of fun with them. – I AM allowed to do magic in the holidays, you know."

During their conversation, dawn had started out in the streets, with the first nuances of blue and turquoise beginning to appear.

Fleur got up from the bed, pulling Harry with her.

"Let's look at our star," she said softly.

"Our star?"

"Oh I forgot… Remember what you say in your letter, what happened that morning when you looked at the star? Well, the same thing happened to me too, in exactly the same way, and it must have been at exactly the same time, too! Can you still doubt we are meant to be special?"

Harry could not speak as all kinds of feelings threatened to overwhelm him. He just nodded.

Hand in hand they moved over to the open window, and above the treetops there it was again, the bright glittering star.

"Venus," Fleur whispered in Harry's ear, "But I like the other name better: Phosphorus, the bringer of light…"

Together they looked on until the star had disappeared in the growing morning sunlight.

Xxx

"Hurry up with that bacon, boy," Vernon grunted, his mouth full. "And while you're at it, I can do with some more tea, too."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

Secretly, Harry glanced at the kitchen clock. Any minute now, Fleur would ring the bell.

"What are you grinning at? Watch out and don't burn the bacon!"

"No, Aunt Petunia."

Ring!

Harry's heart leapt, but he managed to remain outwardly calm.

"Now what the devil…"huffing and puffing, full of breakfast as he was, Vernon heaved himself out of his chair. "Not even on Sunday morning…" he grumbled as he went out into the hall and towards the door.

Dudley, who was more interested in his breakfast than in any boring people who might be calling on his father, remained sitting at the table and helped himself to the slices of bacon on his father's plate. Where food was concerned, Dudley Dursley was a very conscientious person.

Grateful for his cousin's greediness, Harry slipped out behind his uncle, who was quite successfully blocking the narrow hallway. If Dudley had also been there, the space would have been completely filled up. Harry positioned himself two steps up the stairs, so that he could see the door past his uncle's head.

"What do you…" Vernon was starting to say as he opened the door, but his voice trailed off into an indistinct murmur, and even from his position Harry could see how something like a jolt went through his massive bulk.

In the bright sunlight that came streaming in through the open door, Fleur was a dark silhouette, her hair forming a shimmering halo around her.

Fleur's first impression of Vernon Dursley was not a favourable one, to put it mildly. The massive freckled face, jaws still munching, with bits of baked beans clinging to the thick moustache was not an altogether enjoyable sight, and the stained napkin that was still stuck into Vernon's shirt collar did not really help to improve his appearance.

Quite subconsciously, Fleur's Veela ancestry took command. The look of her suddenly ice blue eyes would have frozen a volcano as she said,

"_Bon jour, je desire de parle a 'Arry Potter, s'il-vous plait."_

All Vernon could do was gape at her open-mouthed, emitting a faint gurgling sound, which did not exactly make him appear more intelligent.

"_Pardon,_" Fleur, who started to enjoy herself a good deal, said sweetly. "Ees it posseeble to speak to 'Arry Potter?" She was putting on a highly artificial French accent, and Harry, who knew her English was a lot better than that, grinned to himself. "Zees ees 'is 'ouse, ees it not?"

Normally, Vernon would have had something to say about the preposterous idea of this being Harry's house, but somehow he didn't seem to be able to think clearly. Finally managing to close his mouth, he stepped aside, and Fleur entered. Harry noticed that the dazzling smile she gave his uncle was very different from those she normally had for him. There was something uncanny, almost sinister in that smile.

_Gosh, I hope she'll never smile at me like that._

At that moment, Dudley, who had obviously found nothing eatable on the kitchen table any more, appeared in the kitchen door, his mouth still full of food, wiping his hands on the seat of his trousers. When he saw Fleur standing in the hallway, he stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth fell open like his father's had before, presenting an interesting mixture of egg yolk, baked beans and crushed toast for inspection.

Fleur shot him another dose of her Veela smile and then turned to Harry. He noticed that her eyes were the usual deep blue of the night sky again.

"Oh, 'Arry, 'ere you are!" she said, hugged him and made quite a show of kissing him squarely on the lips.

The kiss seemed to break the spell on the two Dursleys. True, Dudley continued gaping stupidly at the apparition of the stunning girl, although he at least closed his mouth, but Vernon woke from his trance for good. He wasn't sure what had just happened, and this annoyed him a good deal.

Purple in the face, but apparently afraid of addressing Fleur directly, he bellowed at Harry:

"You, boy! Who is this impudent person? Another of those freakish friends of yours, obviously! What's she doing in my house? Tell her to get out at once!"

The shouting caused Petunia to appear on the scene too. She froze as she set eyes on Fleur. Her female instincts told her that there was something about that girl, something "unnatural" as she used to term it, and that the sooner that indecently beautiful creature left her house, the better. It would simply not do to have her husband in the same room with her any longer than could be helped. Wisely, though, she decided to keep in the background for the moment. Of course, Vernon was making a fool of himself, what with shouting like that, and goggling fish-eyed, but she expected she would be able to use it for her own advantage later on. After all, there was that rather nice but expensive dress she had seen at MarksSpencer's the other day...

"Oh, so sorry, Uncle Vernon," Harry said with mock seriousness. "Meet my friend, Mademoiselle Fleur Delacour, Tri-Wizard Tournament champion, and, I'm proud and happy to say, my girl-friend. And now, if you'll excuse us, we'd like to go out for a walk. The weather is too beautiful to stay indoors. Don't expect me back before evening, and have a nice day!"

And he took Fleur's arm, gentleman-like, and escorted her past his uncle out into the glorious sunshine.

At once, Dudley started throwing one of his famous tantrums that his parents knew only too well and dreaded accordingly.

"His girlfriend" he screamed, his voice rising to a considerable level. "I want a girl like that! Why does he get to have everything? Dad, do something"

Even Dudley, dim-witted as he was, sensed vaguely that this was one of the things his father had no power to change, and this made him even more frustrated and furious. Vernon, who had probably been thinking about Fleur in a similar way, although he had sense enough not to express any of those wishes loudly in the presence of his wife, grumbled something indistinct and returned into the kitchen.

Petunia, though, rushed forward to comfort her son.

"Dudders, sweetheart" she said, trying to pull him into her arms, from which he recoiled. He just hated his mother's protestations of affection. "It's just one of those freaks, you know. You don't want to have anything to do with THEM, do you? I wouldn't be surprised if she turned into a- a toad or something. Nothing for my Duddy-boy, really! You deserve better, much better"

Dudley did not bother to reply, but his entire attitude indicated very clearly that he was not interested in anything 'better' at all.

Xxx

Privet Drive and the other suburban streets were already alive with people, and lots of heads turned to watch as Harry and Fleur were ambling by, holding hands. Most of the neighbours knew that the Potter boy was weird, and spent most of the year at some mysterious institution for youthful troublemakers. The men used to nod wisely when Vernon stressed that in St. Brutus' they still upheld the time-honoured tradition of the cane, and the women sympathised with Petunia when she told them how she worked her fingers to the bone for that ungrateful brat. "Never so much as a thank you," she used to whine, and they would pat her arm and make commiserating noises. Most people used to take the Dursleys' stories about Harry for granted, and the fact that when they saw him at all he was wearing old shabby clothes, ill-fitting and with badly mended holes and tears in them, just proved to them that they must be true. It hardly ever occurred to anyone to ask themselves why the boy never wore anything new.

Now today, Harry was again wearing old things of Dudley's, faded jeans, four sizes too wide, a horrible pink T-shirt and a green blazer with patched-up elbows that was reaching down almost to his knees. No, nothing remarkable about the Potter boy.

But the girl! Men who were mowing their lawns ran into trees, and some who were washing their cars (both very popular Sunday morning activities in Privet Drive and environs) fell over buckets when they twisted their necks to get a better look at her. Something like her had never entered the narrow world of Little Whinging, Surrey. Her gorgeous hair alone, shimmering in waves down to her waist, its unearthly silver glittering in the sunlight, was enough to increase heart rates, and the slender, perfectly proportioned figure in the extravagant flowing white dress (the term robe does not occur to muggles easily) triggered quite a number of fantasies as well. From kitchen or living room windows, women were watching the pair, too, and their feelings for the girl were not the friendliest.

How on earth did that Potter boy get to know a girl like that? It was unbelievable.

"Look at them," Fleur giggled, as another lawn-mowing gentleman fell over his own feet staring at her, and was almost run over by the machine. "I don't want to imagine how they'd behave if the Veela charm was still intact. I suppose it's because they are muggles; they are more susceptible, don't you think?"

"I have no idea," Harry replied, squeezing her hand happily. "And I don't care. It's just so good to be with you again. I haven't felt so good in weeks. Now, what can we do on this beautiful day?"

"I don't know, it's your town, isn't it? But how about going somewhere with not so many people staring at us?"

"You," he corrected, smiling. "Staring at you."

"Thank you. Was that a compliment?"

"No, it's the truth. But I guess you're right, there's nothing wrong with a little less publicity. It's quite some walk, however, till we are out of town for good; and I haven't got any money for the bus, too. He never gives me any, you know, and I have a feeling a Surrey bus driver won't accept any sickles- though I think his face would make an interesting study."

"I'm not familiar with the surroundings, of course, and I only got my licence a couple of days ago," Fleur said hesitatingly. "But there shouldn't be any harm in trying…"

"Trying what?"

"Apparating."

"You can- oh, of course, I forgot… But I can't; the ministry would come down on me like a ton of bricks… not that I could do it, anyway…"

"I can Apparate with you as long as we hold on tightly to each other. It's much like portkey transportation, you know. Now, just give me an idea of the place you'd like to go…"

Xxx

The narrow river was gliding noiselessly past, tiny ripples glittering in the sunlight; the sun was high up in the slightly hazy summer sky, in which a few blinding white clouds slowly formed and vanished again. The air was still and warm, filled with the low droning of insects, now and then interrupted by the sleepy warbling of a small bird.

Fleur and Harry were lying side by side in the lush green meadow near the river bank, both gazing dreamily up at the sky. Now and then their hands touched and their fingers intertwined.

"If this is a dream, then I only wish I'll never wake up," Harry murmured, giving Fleur's hand another caress. "Everything seems so far away, so unimportant- Hogwarts, even Voldemort… It's as if … oh, I don't know how to say it… it's only you that matters…"

Fleur rolled over to her side, supported herself on an elbow and looked into his emerald eyes. "No," she said softly, stroking his hair with her free hand, "it's _us_ that matter…"

And she leaned over him for another feather light kiss.

The roar of a motor bike tore through the silence. Fleur and Harry sat up and turned round to look at the intruder. A shining black machine was just coming to a stop on the path a few yards away. Two stocky figures in black leather dismounted.

"Oh no," said Harry, as the riders removed their helmets. "Dudley; and Pierce Polkiss."

"My oh my," they could hear Dudley say gleefully, when he had recognised them. "What have we got here?"

He and his friend walked slowly towards Fleur and Harry, who stood up to face them. Harry recognised the look on his cousin's face only too well.

"He's going to make trouble," he told Fleur in a whisper. "And he knows I can't do magic."

She shot him a reassuring and amused smile. "But _I_ can," she whispered back, "and he doesn't know _that_." She felt for her wand inside her robe.

"Aw, sweetie," Dudley addressed Fleur, when he had reached the two of them, in a manner he had seen in various action films and that he thought was irresistible. "Now what's a girl like you doing with a loser like that? You can do so much better!"

"With you, I suppose?" The ice in Fleur's voice was almost tangible, and her smile was frightening. At least this was what Harry felt, Dudley, too obtuse to sense it, failed to notice the former altogether and took the latter at face value.

"Yeah, honey," he drawled on. "Why don't I kick that-" he nodded his head at Harry, "into the river, and show you what a _really_ good time is like? Take care of him, Pierce," he said to his friend. And he grabbed Fleur round her waist with both hands, grinning broadly. "Come, baby, just be a little bit nice to old Dudley-"

Like lightning, Fleur whipped out her wand, and slammed the tip against Dudley's chest, which caused him to loosen his grip and stagger backwards a foot or two.

"Stupefy"

With all her fury, her voice remained cold like ice, and was barely more than a whisper, but the effect of the spell, perhaps because of her anger, or perhaps in combination of some residue of the Veela magic, was the most stunning Harry had ever witnessed. Like a cannonball, Dudley shot off his feet, and forcefully backwards, straight into the motor bike, which fell over with a crash, Dudley on top of it.

Fleur was standing there, eyes sparkling, her wand arm extended straight towards Dudley, her magnificent hair streaming behind her in a sudden gust of wind that had appeared from nowhere. She was indeed a marvellous, and at the same time frightening sight.

Pierce Polkiss, not the fastest thinker at the best of times, was still gaping stupidly when Fleur turned to him. He had not even time to blanch before she said in the same dangerously quiet voice,

"Petrificus totalis"

He had no idea what was happening, as he felt his arms and legs snap together as if being forced to stand at attention, and presently, he fell forward, stiff as a log.

Calmly, Fleur put away her wand, turned round and looked at Harry, grinning widely.

"_C'est__ ca"_

Harry, although he had seen magic being performed countless times, was quite impressed, nevertheless.

"Now I know why the goblet chose you for champion" he said, taking both her hands in his. "My, I would so hate to have you as an enemy"

"Not to worry, Mr. Potter" she replied, kissing him briefly. "No danger of that, ever! Now let's take this" she indicated Pierce"over to the first big goof."

They both grabbed Pierce by the legs and dragged him over to where Dudley was still lying in a heap.

"What shall we do with them" Harry mused. "It would be a good thing if they didn't remember what happened... Uncle Vernon wouldn't like it one bit..."

"No problem" Fleur said lightly. Then she turned towards the two figures, pointed her wand at them and muttered"Obliviate"

"They'll think they had an accident" she told Harry"And if I judge them correctly, each will blame the other for it. Their machine will also not run by itself any more, they'll have to push it to town. It will take them quite some time, I believe..."

"Fleur, you're marvellous! What have I done to deserve..."

"Shh, Harry, I've told you before, I don't want to hear it. Now, just kiss me, as I'll have to go back home soon."

To which Harry readily complied.


	5. Guess who's coming for dinner?

A/N: Well, my friends, here we go again, there is a little teaser in this chapter, and (as I hope) a nice cliffie at the end. Thanks a lot for all the nice reviews.

**Awesome twin – **Who says I HAVE TO go by the book? Actually, I can't. It's going to be loosely based on the book, of course, but there'll be lots of differences. So wait and see. (BTW, it's not even sure in canon if Sirius is REALLY dead – there's no body.)

**Korifi**** – **No, I'm afraid I can't provide Harry with fashionable clothing, where would his inferiority complex go then?

**WickerB****-** yes, poor Big D. But what would we do without him?

**Panuru****-** Just be patient, I can't give away something so important, can I?

**Loopy dane – **Yes, the term Flower Power gets quite a new meaning, doesn't it?

**SilverMoonset**** – **That was exactly the idea, some comic relief before things get going.

**KarlaBob****-**Ok, I'll try to reduce the fluff and give you more action. Glad you feel D. is back in character.

**Enter The Lion – **Exactly. Harry, with all his experiences is a lot more mature than the average teenage boy, so he would have no use for the normal giggling 14-year-old girl. Not to worry, I'm not going to mess with Harry's destiny.

Chapter 5 – Guess who's coming for dinner?

Nobody was there to watch when Harry and Fleur, in close embrace for Apparating reasons, suddenly appeared in the little park on Wisteria Drive.

"I'm afraid I must really return home now," Fleur whispered in Harry's ear, while reluctantly letting her arms glide from his shoulders. "I don't know what my mother will have to say about this… but I guess I'll find out soon enough," she finished wistfully.

"Well, _I _can imagine quite a lot the Dursleys will have to say…" Harry said dryly. "But whatever they'll have in store for me, it's been worth it! When will I see you again?" He added eagerly.

"I can't really tell you, it may well be that they won't let me do it again any time soon. But I promise I will come as soon as I can. Are you sure you don't want me to come with you to your house? I believe I can frighten those muggles enough so they won't…"

"Much as I appreciate it, and even more as I'd love you to be with me a couple of minutes longer, no, I'm quite sure. This is something I'll have to sort out myself. You were admirable down there by the river, and I don't want to imagine what might have happened otherwise, but this is my job."

"If you mean you have to prove to yourself you can manage things on your own, I don't agree, but I can imagine what it means to you. So, good luck with the muggles, and I'll see you as soon as I can."

She leaned in for a quick kiss, which however, turned into one a lot longer and more intensive, but finally they let go of each other.

Again, Harry watched in wonderment how the beautiful white-robed girl in front of him turned into a snowy owl, the exact duplicate of Hedwig, apart from the never-changing blue eyes.

With a quiet hoot, Fleur, the owl, flew up to perch on Harry's shoulder, where she nibbled his ear for a moment, before she swung up into the sky and quickly disappeared in the blue.

"And now for the bloodhounds," Harry said to himself in grim resolution, as he went on his way.

However, when he arrived at 4, Privet Drive, he found that the Dursleys were busy with something else.

"I told you not to go down that lane so fast!" He could hear Dudley shout, even before he had reached the garden gate.

"If you stupid idiot had had just kept sitting quietly, nothing would have happened!" came the voice of Pierce Polkiss, who seemed close to hysterics. "I've been there loads of times, and the first time you are along… And now the machine is ruined, and I've not even finished paying for it! Oh I'd like to…"

Harry didn't listen any longer. Glad for the diversion he skirted around the house and silently crept in through the back door, and up the stairs to his room, while the quarrel still resounded from the living room.

When he came down for dinner in the evening, he had decided to behave completely normally, and see how the Dursleys would react. And indeed, whether because of some charm or some other mysterious reason, they had forgotten about Fleur's appearance.

But perhaps they were only too preoccupied with Dudley.

Dudley was quite a sight, and Harry had a hard time not grinning. His face was scratched and bruised, and his left arm was in a sling. He sat at the table, staring morosely at his plate, a rather unusual attitude for him.

"Good Lord," Harry managed to say, hoping he sounded natural, "What happened to you?"

Dudley glared at him. "I don't know how you did it, and I can't prove you did it, but I'm sure you had something to do with it, it's always you! And I'll get you for that, I will!"

Harry did not doubt it in the least, in fact, Dudley would get him anyway, he didn't need anything so trivial as proof.

_But it would be a lot worse if he KNEW._

Feigning ignorance, he repeated, "What happened?"

"Ickle Diddikins had a bad accident," Petunia whined, trying to pat her recoiling son. "I always knew this horrible machine was too dangerous; and the way that maniac rides it! It's a miracle you're still alive, my popkin!"

"I could have told you Pierce was no good," Harry said, trying hard not to smirk too openly, "but you never asked…"

"Hey!" Dudley snapped out of his gloom. "How do you know it was him?"

_Damn!_ Thinking fast, Harry replied, "Come, Dud, everybody knows about Pierce Polkiss and his stupid machine. He's been riding it all over the place, and especially at night. Doesn't need ma- I mean doesn't need a genius to know that."

Dudley didn't say anything to this, so Harry expected he had bought this explanation.

During dinner, none of the Dursleys mentioned Fleur, and Harry knew better than to introduce the subject. Petunia kept fussing over Dudley, and Vernon muttered something about suing the bastard, but otherwise the meal passed quietly enough. Finally, Vernon heaved himself up from his chair, stretched and grumbled at Harry;

"Do the dishes before you turn in, and don't be late for work tomorrow morning."

"Yes- I mean, no, Uncle Vernon."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Oh,_ cherie_," said Vivienne, and her voice, though calm, could not quite hide her relief. "I was already having the most terrible visions… But you did it, didn't you? Oh, I'm so proud of you!"

And she hugged her granddaughter, who had just changed back from the white owl. Fleur hugged her back energetically.

"Thank you, grandma, thank you so much!"

"So I expect you did see him," her grandmother replied with a smile. "And I'd venture to say that you spent a rather nice day with him, or you would have been back much earlier, saving me a lot of worry."

"I'm sorry, grandma, if I caused you any anxiety, I just couldn't go back right away… You have no idea about the horrible muggles he has to live with… I wonder why he always has to go back there…"

"I am sure there are reasons… security, most likely; he's not exactly a nobody, if you see what I mean."

"You're probably right – as always. But tell me – does _Maman_know?" She could not suppress the anxiety in her voice. Her grandmother patted her hand reassuringly.

"I haven't even seen her for two days; she seems to be busy in Paris, or something… But I can't imagine there could be any harm in her knowing. After all, you've mastered an important Veela ability… No, I'd rather imagine she'd be proud of you, just as proud as I am!"

"Thanks grandma, I do hope you are right. I'm still not sure what to make of her new attitude… But – where's Gabie? Is she still up? I'd so love to tell her everything!"

"Everything you've not told me?" Vivienne said in mock severity. "No, don't bother; I understand. Just go and see if she's still awake. She's been asking me about you all day, so I'd be surprised if she was already asleep…"

"Oh grandma, you are really the best!" And after a quick hug, Fleur dashed off in search of her sister.

Of course, Gabrielle was not asleep, and, of course, she wanted to hear everything about Harry Potter, whom she had been worshipping ever since that cold February day when he had pulled her out of the Hogwarts lake. Of course, Fleur complied readily, happy to relive the past few hours; of course, Gabrielle was disgusted at her sister's description of Vernon and Dudley, and of course, she greatly enjoyed how the youngest Dursley had been dealt with. And, quite naturally, she made small delighted noises when Fleur told her how she had been looking at the Morning Star together with Harry.

"Oh, Fleur," she whispered, snuggling closer to her, her eyes drowsy, "you're a lucky girl, you know…" With which words she dropped off to sleep, and Fleur, thoroughly exhausted, followed suit presently.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"… pledge myself forever to the service of the Dark Lord."

"As a sign of which your Lord confers upon you his Mark, a distinction to be cherished and worn proudly and honourably."

The cold high voice was not much more than a whisper, but the words could not have been branded into the kneeling figure's brain any more deeply had they been roared out like thunder. A grotesque smile disfigured the deadly white features of Lord Voldemort as he touched the tip of his wand to the outstretched bare forearm. There was a faint hiss, and the newly recruited Death Eater shivered involuntarily, watching the skull with the serpent slithering from its mouth appear on the skin.

"Ah, my eager young friend," Voldemort chuckled, "we need to control our tolerance of pain a bit better…" He raised his wand, but thought better of it. "Perhaps another time," he said quietly, almost as if to himself. "You may go. Your instructions will be given to you in due course."

The figure rose slowly, still watching the Dark Mark with a kind of horrified fascination, then covered the arm slowly with the sleeve of the robes.

"Yes, master. And – you will think of my reward?"

"Lord Voldemort never forgets."

"Foolish young idiot," Voldemort remarked in an amused voice, after the young Death Eater had left the room. "But what a very useful tool desire always is, especially when it is mixed with hatred. It has always been, hasn't it, Wormtail?"

"But, my Lord, are you sure…" the small rat-like man cringed at his master's expression and did not finish his sentence.

"You're lucky, Wormtail," said the cold voice. "I'm in a particularly lenient mood today, so your impertinence shall go unpunished. This young fool will be useful as a spy that will not be suspected easily in Hogwarts, and can, perhaps, be turned into a weapon eventually… yes, decidedly useful, in more than one way…"

"And that reward, if I may be so bold as to ask, my Lord?"

"Oh, yes, the reward… they all get what they deserve, my dear Wormtail, rest assured, they always do…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The afternoon was drawing to its end, and with it Harry's time at his uncle's factory. Like last Monday, and the Monday before, it had been rather a busy day, as most goods were delivered at the beginning of the week. Therefore, Tony and he had hardly had time to talk about anything else but the few necessary instruction about where to stack which crate, and what to do with the odd damaged boxes. But now, shortly before five, they had finally finished and were sitting on their rickety chairs in the lengthening shadow of the store house, relaxing.

"Do you know, this is my third week starting already?" Harry remarked, to nobody in particular, stretching his arms and legs luxuriously. "I do hope that guy who fell from the ladder takes his time returning to his job… I really like this… And it's great working with you, Tony."

"Thanks, lad. It's nice having you here, too. Hey, why don't you come with me to my sister's this evening? Arabella is doing the cooking for me today, and she isn't half good at it, I can tell you. What say? Give you a change from those Dursleys, I dare say."

_Old Mrs. Figg? Good at cooking? I'd never have thought so, all that cabbage… But I suppose I can't say no, really. _

"Well, I'm not so sure they'd like the idea… But, heck, what can they do, after all? Yes, Tony I'd love to come."

So, at five o' clock, they put Harry's (Dudley's) old bike in the trunk of Tony's car, and drove over to Wisteria Walk, where Tony parked the car in front of Mrs. Figg's house. Several cats were sitting in the front garden as Harry and Tony got out.

"Hi, Mr. Tibbles," Tony said to one of the cats. "Will you please go in and say that we're here?"

_He's talking to the cat! Can he be a bit strange in his head? Well, he's her brother, after all, and she's definitely got a screw loose where cats are concerned…_

The cat, just as if he had understood each word, got up, stretched, and leisurely ambled inside through the cat flap in the front door.

Although Harry had not been there in the last three or four years – the Dursleys had preferred to lock him in the house when they went away, thus saving the money they'd have had to spend on a babysitter – all the hours in the old lady's house came back to him.

_Weird feeling, this… No, I guess she did her best, just did not know what to do with a small kid… Don't think I ever hated being with her, at least there was no Dudley…_

Mrs Figg appeared from the back of the house where, as Harry remembered, there was the kitchen. Together with her, a not unpleasant smell drifted towards them.

_No cabbage… that's some beginning, I believe._

"Ah, Tony!" she said to her brother, and then beamed at Harry. "I'm so glad you've come, Harry. I've not seen or talked to you for ages. Are you still enjoying that school of yours?" There was a distinct twinkle in her eyes. "No, not that rubbish Saint something or other…" she added when she noticed Harry's expression. "I never believed that one for a moment… But just go into the living room, will you, dinner will be ready soon."

So Harry and Tony entered the living room. Curiously, Harry looked around, but found everything much as he remembered it. There was the large old fashioned sofa in red and gold plush, covered with an assortment of pillows, and on those pillows, several cats; there was the dark brown book case filled with old looking books, many of them leather bound and with gold lettering; and there was exactly the same fire place as in the Dursley house, only this one showed clear signs of being used rather frequently, with assorted framed pictures of what must be generations of cats on the mantelpiece. The most obvious difference to the living room in Privet Drive, however, was the striking absence of a TV set. In the middle of the room, a prettily laid table was awaiting them. After removing the cats from two of the chairs, the sat down at the table.

"Ah, that's nice," said Tony, stretching his legs under the table. "A bit old fashioned, perhaps, and way too many cushions and pillows, if you ask me, but otherwise, a nice place. It's some time you were here last, right?"

"Oh, yes, must be some four years now… But it's hardly changed… Strange, isn't it, all these houses around here are pretty much the same, aren't they, and still, it's so very different… I don't know how to say this… It feels – warmer, perhaps, better in a way, don't ask me why…"

"Hmm, let me guess…" a huge grin was showing in Tony's face. "No Dursleys, perhaps?"

At this moment Mrs Figg entered carrying a tray with a large steaming bowl that smelled excellent although Harry could not have said of what exactly.

"Enjoy," she said simply as she put the tray down on the table.

Only now Harry noticed that the table was laid for four persons.

"Are you expecting someone else?" he asked.

Mrs Figg exchanged an amused look with her brother.

"Yes, indeed, and it's going to be quite a surprise for you, I'm sure… But why don't you start eating? He will probably be a bit late, and it would be a pity if your dinner got cold…"

"Someone I know? But – I don't know anybody here, nobody I'd be glad to see, that is… Who is it?"

But the others just smiled mysteriously and did not answer. Of course, Harry could not concentrate on his food at all now, as he had to keep wondering who the mysterious guest would be.

_The only people I can think of are all from the wizarding world… they can't possibly appear hear in this muggle house…_

But no matter how much he thought about it, he could not in the least imagine who to expect.

"… looking forward to school?"

"What?" He had not been listening, and only now realised the question was directed at him.

"I was saying, are you looking forward to school already? It's your fifth year, isn't it?" Mrs Figg was looking straight at him, her eyes twinkling again.

"Yes, it is. Oh, I just can't wait to go back there! To see my friends again, and to learn – well, to learn more…"

"What's your favourite subject, then?"

And before he had time to think, Harry blurted out,

"Transfig-"

At this exact moment, there was bang and a cloud of smoke and a robed figure stepped out of the fireplace.

A/N: No, you are welcome to guess and speculate – Who is the young Death Eater, and who is appearing in Mrs Figg's fireplace? I hope I can post the next chapter in a week or so – it will have the answer to the second question, obviously, although you'll have to wait a lot longer for the first answer. Hope you enjoy!


	6. The Attack

A/N: Welcome back, my friends, here is the new chapter, with some action – at last! Was high time something happened, don't you think? Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, they are a writer's food and drink. Alas, the young DE's identity will remain a mystery for quite some time, but of course it's not Fleur's mom. Congrats to LT200 – yes that's one of the beauties of the English language, isn't it? But now, without further ado, on with the story:

Chapter 6 – The Attack

Speechless, Harry was staring at the familiar form of Dumbledore, as he, calmly and without any hurry, bent low and stepped out of the fireplace, carefully dusting his robes as he approached the dinner table.

"Good evening, Albus," said Tony, and it was his quiet and matter of fact tone that brought Harry back to his senses.

"You – you're wizards?" He jumped up from his chair and glared at Tony and his sister. "And you never told me? Been laughing at stupid Harry behind my back, no doubt? What the devil have you been playing at all the time?"

"Calm down, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, while Mrs. Figg put a soothing hand on his arm. "I can imagine this comes as quite some surprise-"

"You bet it does!" Harry spat, but he allowed himself to be gently pushed down on his chair.

"And I believe we owe you an explanation," Dumbledore went on.

"And it'd better be a good one," Harry retorted, still angry. "Here I've been slaving for my bloody relatives, feeling the complete outsider and freak as every summer and now I find out that the place is swarming with magical people without me having any idea…"

"Not quite, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, "Though I daresay it won't make much of a difference to you; Tony here is a squib, has been one since birth, and Arabella-" he stopped himself and turned to her. "Perhaps you'll tell Harry the story?"

"Some other time, maybe, I'm not sure he wants to hear it at this moment; you should rather tell him what's been going on, why we've been playing this hide-and-seek game with him all these weeks…"

"Years," grumbled Harry, "Fourteen bloody years!"

"You are right, fourteen years, Harry, and don't believe I enjoyed it. But I had to. The Dursleys would never have let you stay here if they had thought you liked it. And, moreover, it would just not have done to let you grow up among muggles and knowing you were a wizard…"

"But- WHY?" Far from subsiding, Harry's anger rose again. "I mean, why make me spend a miserable life with my horrible relatives in the first place? Couldn't you find some wizarding family to look after me?"

"Ah, that's where I must plead guilty," Dumbledore said quietly. "I can't tell you everything right now, but believe me, it was for your own good-"

"Oh how I hate that! For my own good! What good can these awful year have been?"

"Let it be enough if I say that the house of your blood relatives was the only really safe place for you outside Hogwarts; and you know only too well, don't you, that Voldemort is doing whatever he can to finish the business he started fourteen years ago… The point is, in short, that staying with your relatives was the only way to protect you."

"But why have you suddenly decided to blow your precious cover? You could have gone on like this for ages, and I'd never have been any wiser."

"Well – as you yourself know better than anybody else, the circumstances are different this year… Things have been happening that make a change in plans necessary."

"What things? Have the death eaters been up to something? I've been watching out for reports on the muggle news, but there was nothing extraordinary."

"Yes," the headmaster said gravely, "it seems that there were a number of attempts; but they are obviously not so well organised, so nothing serious happened in the wizarding world. They did attack some muggles, though, I believe they do it for sport, or practice…"

"Were there- did they- kill anybody?"

"Do you remember a report about a car crash on the M 4?"

"Yes; some twenty-five cars crashed into each other; I don't remember exactly, there were a couple of deaths… But how do you know it was death eaters?"

"What reason did the report give?"

"Wait- I believe they said something about unexpected thick fog appearing… you don't mean to say…"

"It would seem very much like that, yes. But this is actually not the reason why I am here today. No, it's something else, and much more serious. You remember how Voldemort regained his body?"  
"How could I ever forget it? Not that I've not been trying, believe me…"

"Among other ingredients," the headmaster went on, "your blood was essential in the proceedings. Now when you first told me about that, I believed it was a good thing because it would link you to the Dark Lord and transfer some of his powers to you; in fact, I thought it was the very thing that would enable you to finally stand up to him… However, every good thing has its drawback, too. As I have gathered from various sources, the most obvious consequence of you and him sharing the same blood will be that the blood protection of your relatives loses its effect."

Quite unexpectedly for the headmaster, Harry's face lit up at this.

"But- but this means- this means there is no reason for me to stay with them any more! You said so yourself, the only reason was my protection, and now…"

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, and for the first time there was a smile in the headmaster's face. "I have come to take you away, to a safe place- well, as far as any place can be safe these days…"

"Wow!" Harry jumped up from his chair. "When do we start?"

"Easy," the headmaster's smile deepened. "Don't you even want to know where I am taking you?"

"No, and I don't care; any place is better than the Dursleys'! Just give me ten minutes-"

"Hmm, as much as I appreciate your cooperation, Harry, there is no need for so much hurry. Why don't we enjoy Arabella's excellent dinner now? And afterwards the two of us will go and get everything ready ..."

And although Harry was feeling quite impatient and could not concentrate on the - admittedly wonderful - dinner, there was nothing to be done; Dumbledore seemed to have forgotten everything except the food on the plate in front of him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Disgusting!" Margaux' voice was full of revulsion. "And you think he would really..."

"Have raped me?" Fleur responded, at which her friends winced. "I'm sure he would - I could see it in his eyes... Yes, I'm sure, if I had been a normal muggle girl..."

She shuddered at the memory.

"Shows what a stupid idiot he is, too," Iphigenie said, grinning. "He must have known you were NOT a _normal muggle girl_..."

"I suppose he did. He must have known that any friend of Harry's wouldn't be _normal_; I'm sure his parents told him so hundreds of times. But when those hormones kick in... I've noticed that more than once..."

"Seems it doesn't need the Veela charm, after all," Margaux mused, "not for muggles, at any rate."

They were sitting in front of _Le Chaudron Decoulant, _a small cafe in Montmartre just off Sacre-Coeur, enjoying their ice creams. It was one of the typical Paris summer evenings, with the heat of the day slowly subsiding in the gathering dusk. Crowds of tourists were ambling past the few tables and chairs on the pavement, but strangely enough, none of them paid any attention to the people seated there, although some of them were wearing rather strange clothes; not even the elderly gentleman in the 19th-century style attire, complete with high and stiff white collar, mauve cravat and embroidered waistcoat in green and gold, seemed to attract any special attention.

The three girls, however, were not any different from the average teenagers: Margaux and Iphigenie in jeans and T-shirts, while Fleur, aware of her effect on muggles in particular, had put on a long flowing, robe-like dress. Its shiny emerald fabric, however, accentuated her magnificent hair in a way that rendered her attempts at being inconspicuous perfectly futile. Even several of the muggles who wandered by, not really taking in anything, stopped to look at her with a dreamy expression, before walking on, looking slightly dazed.

"And when are you going to see him again?" Margaux asked.

"I don't know; this transformation is pretty exhausting, to be honest. But Gran-mere says it's getting easier with practice - so I guess I'll need all the practice I can get, don't you think?"

"How right you are!" Margaux said, grinning.

"What does your mother say? Is she still so different from what you are used to?" Iphigenie inquired.

Fleur's face darkened.

"That's what puzzles me," she said slowly and thoughtfully. "She is still the kindest person you can imagine, but it seems she is not really interested in anything I do. Grand-mere told her about my new ability, but she just didn't react; she did say something like 'how nice for you, dear', but apart from that, she has never mentioned it again."

"And did you tell her about your – your excursion to England?"

"To be honest, I haven't," Fleur said, somewhat shamefacedly. "It somehow never came up… Oh, who am I fooling; I just didn't feel like it… I mean, there are some things I just want to keep to myself."

"So I suppose we should feel honoured you told us," Margaux put in, and the conversation changed to a lighter tone.

In the meantime, darkness had set in, and the girls rose from their table.

"Let's go up to the church," Margaux suggested. "I always love the view of the city by night." And she took Iphigenie's hand, intertwining her fingers with hers. Fleur looked on, a feeling of envy and loneliness coursing through her.

Iphigenie, ever observant, noticed; gently she let go of Margaux' hand and linked her arm with the blond girl's. Margaux took Fleur's other arm.

"No moping," she said in a mock reproachful voice. "The evening's much too beautiful for that. Come along, it will take your mind off things."

So the three of them walked through the narrow street over to the park and the church on the hill overlooking the city. Of course the steps in front of the church were swarming with tourists, and the flashes of the photographers were everywhere.

"Seems you are not the only one who loves Paris by night," Fleur, who had regained her composure, said teasingly. "But it really is beautiful – millions of muggles can't be wrong."

They wandered off to the side, looking for a place that was a little less crowded, and finally sat down on a bench, a couple of metres away from the masses, but still with a good view of the city.

They sat there for some time, each of them thinking thoughts of their own, although the atmosphere of silent understanding between Margaux and Iphigenie was obvious enough – so obvious, in fact, that Fleur found she could not bear it.

"I think I'll walk a bit," she said to her friends, rising from the bench. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes." And she wandered off aimlessly through the park, not quite aware of her surroundings.

The sudden freezing cold hit her like a hammer. At the same time, all the lights vanished, and everything went completely dark. Even the noises around her stopped abruptly, and there was nothing at all left – total, impenetrable, silent, bone-chilling blackness.

The shock paralysed her momentarily, and she stood motionless, hardly breathing, blindly gazing into the black void, straining in vain to catch the faintest sound, but there was nothing. Panic threatened to overcome her, darkness had always been her primal fear, and this here was darkness, deeper than any she had ever experienced.

With an immense effort she summoned what was left of her strength and fumbled for her wand with a shaking hand. Just when her fingers closed on it, there was the first sound- a sound that made her long desperately for the silence again- rasping hoarse breaths that were coming slowly nearer.

Somewhere from the depths of her mind an image rose, an image that she had forgotten ever since they had dealt with it in the Defence against the Dark Arts lesson.

"A Dementor!" she whispered to herself, gripping her wand tighter. In quick succession half remembered fragments of information raced through her mind.

_Something happy! Think of something happy!_

And she remembered herself with Harry, down by the river, and she felt the cold recede, and a tiny warm centre form inside her that started spreading slowly but surely.

"Lumos!" she said, her voice more confident now, and the dim glow from the tip of her wand shed a dismal light into the darkness.

She sensed, more than she actually saw, the towering black-robed hooded creature, skeletal scabbed hands stretching towards her, and her courage faltered again. The teachers in school had never considered Dementors a real danger, and had treated the subject in a rather theoratical way; and so she could not remember, apart from thinking happy thoughts, what defences would work against them. She raised her wand and used the first spell that came to her mind, without thinking:

"Expelliarmus!"

The red sparks were feeble and vanished shortly after they had left the tip of the wand. The black shadow did not even seem to notice that something had happened. The cold grew more intense again, as Fleur tried another spell:

"Inflammare!" she shouted, waving her wand; indeed, a flame erupted from it and shot towards the Dementor's robe, and for a moment it almost seemed as if the spell was successful. In a couple of seconds, however, the creature, with a careless sweep of its robes had extinguished the flames and, slowly but purposefully, glided on towards her.

Positively panicking now, Fleur screamed,

"Wingardium leviosa!"

If she had still been capable of thinking clearly, she would never have used that spell in a situation like this; it was one of the simplest, weakest beginners' spells, not to be expected to be any use against this dark creature; yet, amazingly, it was the first spell to have any effect at all on the horrible thing. I was really lifted up into the air, arms flailing about, and it seemed as if this ridiculously weak spell would do the trick.

But of course it did not last. After a second or two, the Dementor had regained control of its movements and, more determined than ever, glided towards Fleur, now only a couple of inches away from her.

_Harry! I love you! You are my happiest memory!_

What happened now was so fast that, in her panic, Fleur could follow the events clearly; there was suddenly a blinding white light, a dazzling bright form, although she could not have said what it looked like, that like a flash appeared between her and the Dementor, which, with something like a furious shriek, disappeared.

And as the stars and the city lights appeared again and the air was the mild summer evening air again, and as Margaux and Iphigenie, who had noticed something was happening, although they had no idea what it was, were rushing towards her through the oblivious crowds of tourists, Fleur fainted and collapsed on the gravel path.

A/N: I'm awfully sorry, but I just have to leave you here; as I have to go away on a skiing trip with school (and believe me, looking after a bunch of lively thirteen-year olds is not exactly a holiday!), I'm afraid you can't expect the next chapter earlier than in two weeks' time at the earliest. So, dear friends, patience is the order of the day!


	7. Links and Connections

A/N: Hello, my friends, here I am again. Sorry for the delay, but there was no way I could get any writing done on that ski trip. YOU try it while being cooped up with a gang of fifty kids! Well spotted, Wingardium happened to work (if only partially) for the third time already; can hardly be a coincidence, right? Now, without further ado, here is

Chapter 7 Links and Connections

"Harry!"

From somewhere far away, a voice was penetrating the mist that envelope his mind. And again, urgently, "Harry!"

"What?"

Slowly the fog seemed to lift, and the first sensation that impressed itself on him was the pain in his head.

"Harry! Wake up! Are you all right?"

He had heard that voice before… A female voice, frightened and pressing. With an effort, he opened his eyes. His vision was blurred at first, and it took him some time to focus on the three faces bent over him. It took him even longer to get his thoughts into the same focus and recognise them: Old Mrs Figg, shock and fear clearly written in her face, Tony, looking dazed, and Dumbledore, whose eyes behind the half-moon glasses were not twinkling for once but gazing at him with a worried expression.

Only now he realised he was lying on the rug in the living room, an overturned chair next to him, as well as a broken plate. With a groan, he sat up clumsily and touched the back of his head and felt the bruise where apparently he had hit the floor.

"Harry! How do you feel? What happened?"

"Don't hurry him, Arabella," Dumbledore's calm voice sounded. "He'll need some time to order his thoughts, I imagine."

"Why don't you sit down on the sofa, Harry," Tony suggested, bending down to help him to his feet and leading him carefully over to it.

"What – what happened?" Harry finally managed to ask, his voice shaky.

"Well – we were hoping YOU could tell us," Dumbledore replied, and there was the tiniest sound of amusement back in his voice.

"It's like this," Tony told him matter-of-factly, "In the middle of a sentence, you just went rigid, stared as if you'd seen a ghost, and then, bang! Collapsed on the floor, upturning your chair, which luckily missed hitting you over the head. And then you were lying there, not moving at all, for a couple of minutes. You did give us some shock, I can tell you!"

"Did your scar hurt, Harry?" Dumbledore inquired. "What did you see or hear? Can you remember anything?"

"Here, drink this," Mrs Figg handed him a glass. "It's not actually a magic potion, but it will help you sort out things, nevertheless."

Harry gratefully accepted and gulped down the contents in one large swallow, which was a bit of a mistake.

"What – what's that?" he finally managed to splutter out, between coughs, tears in his eyes.

"Almost magic," she smiled at him, "Dalwhinnie 18 years old – really works wonders."

"Really, Arabella," Dumbledore said, but he tried in vain to hide his amusement. "He's only fifteen!"

"It won't kill him," she replied dryly. "It's not called water of life for nothing… Look, there's the colour returning to his face. Now, Harry, do you think you can tell us how you experienced everything?"

"Well," Harry said slowly, trying to catch the elusive images and feelings in his mind. "I'm not sure... It was… this sounds ridiculous… but- but if I had to describe the feeling, it was almost… the sudden darkness and the cold… yes, absurd as it may seem, but it was like – like a dementor!"

He stopped, as if surprised by his own words, and looked at the others, wondering how they would react.

"Crazy, I know," he muttered, "YOU haven't noticed any dementors, have you? I must have been dreaming or something."

"Indeed we haven't noticed anything of the kind," Dumbledore nodded. "Very strange indeed. Are you sure your scar didn't hurt?"

"You mean, did it have something to do with Voldemort? No, it didn't, and it doesn't now. The only thing that hurts is that bump from the fall… No, it doesn't seem to have anything to do with him."

"That's one good thing, at least; but – dementors? Do you remember anything else? You were in that state for some five minutes, did anything happen, sounds, sights, feelings?"

"As I said, it was completely dark, darker than any natural darkness, dementor-dark, you see… But I think I did hear something – a scream… a woman's voice… No, not my mum," he said seeing Dumbledore's expression, "I know THAT only too well, someone else, though now I think of it I believe I knew that voice too…" He paused, thinking hard. "There aren't so many women or girls whose voice would be familiar to me… Mrs Weasley… McGonagall… Aunt Petunia… no, the voice sounded younger… Ginny? No… Hermione?..." Realisation suddenly hit him. "FLEUR! Yes! It was her! Fleur – a dementor attacked her!"

He jumped up from the sofa.

"Quiet, Harry," Dumbledore put his hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Even if she was, - and we have no way of knowing right now, - there is nothing we can do. The only thing will be for you to remember as exactly as possible what happened. How did you wake up again?"

Harry sat down reluctantly.

"There was suddenly a blinding white light, and the cold and dark vanished; and then I heard you talking to me. Does that mean-"

He looked at Dumbledore hopefully.

"The dark and cold vanished, you say? This does sound good. It seems the dementor was chased away. And the only thing that can chase away a dementor – "

"Is a Patronus! This fits in with the white light…Well, I guess she may have learned to do it in sixth year, it can't be that hard, I mean, I learned it in third year… Oh, I so hope she's safe!"

"I still don't understand it," Mrs Figg said thoughtfully. "I mean, how did it work? For all we know, the girl is back in France, a thousand miles from here. How could you possible feel whatever it was that happened? Are you quite sure it was her voice?"

Harry only nodded dumbly. The more he thought of it the more certain he felt it had indeed been Fleur screaming.

"Empathy, Arabella," Dumbledore mused. "You know, a strong emotional connection, especially intense in times of stress and danger. It is not a gift that many people have, but all the signs point to one such empathic bond between Fleur and you, Harry. It's the only explanation, unless, of course, you were just imagining things."

Harry shook his head violently.

"What is most surprising, however," Dumbledore went on, "is the enormous power of this connection. It's quite out of the usual for the average teenage relationship to be that powerful. I'm not asking out of curiosity, Harry, but have you and Fleur – "

Again Harry shook his head energetically, blushing violently, and Dumbledore did not finish his sentence.

"Which means that there must be something about the two of you that is very special; something we have yet to find out… I don't suppose you have any idea, Harry?"

Fleur's account of the prophecy about the scorpion's sting crossed Harry's mind, but it seemed too absurd to mention to Dumbledore, so he shook his head once again.

"I'll send her an owl this very night," he said finally. "I have to know if things happened like we believe they did, or – or if I'm just going nuts. So I think I'd better be going; the Dursleys will be mad at me as it is."

"No," Dumbledore interjected quietly, and Harry was surprised at his expression; the headmaster looked worried, but at the same time there was an eager fire in his eyes that he had never seen there before. "I'm afraid it will not be possible for you to return to their house, not even for the shortest of times. In the light of these recent developments we just cannot take the risk. No, I will have to take you to headquarters right away."

"Headquarters?"

"Patience, Harry. You will see for yourself; and I will give all the necessary explanations in due course, I promise."

"But- but my things? And Hedwig?"

"Your school things and everything else will be arranged for; and as for your owl, I think you know you can trust her to find you wherever you are. Now, if you have recovered from your shock, let's leave…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What-"

Hearing the Apparating sounds Vivienne looked up from the book she was reading; and she could not believe her eyes: Margaux and Iphigenie had just appeared in the mansion's salon, supporting the limp form of Fleur between them.

The book dropped from her hands, and she was up and beside the girls in a flash.

"What-", she began again, but her voice failed her.

Together they laid Fleur down on the sofa between the windows. Fleur was still unconscious, her face very white, a nasty scratch on her forehead, where she had hit the ground. Her breath was shallow and irregular.

"We don't really know what happened," Margaux said breathlessly. "We were in the park of Sacre Coeur, see, and she said she wanted to go for a short walk…"

"We didn't pay too much attention, I'm afraid," Iphigenie put in, blushing. "I guess we should…"

"And- and the next thing was she had collapsed a couple of metres away, and the muggles were already wondering-"

"So we rushed to her, and picked her up and Apparated here," Iphigenie finished. "Will she be all right?"

Vivienne, who had regained her composure, looked at her granddaughter critically.

"She doesn't seem seriously hurt," she said slowly. "Yet she's still unconscious. Obviously, this must be something to do with magic… Enervate!" she said, directing her wand at Fleur.

Slowly, the spell began to show its effects; gradually, colour returned to Fleur's cheeks, her breath steadied, and her eyelids first fluttered and then opened. Her look, unfocused first, soon became clearer, and at last she sat up, looking around her wildly.

"Fleur, _cherie_!" Vivienne sat down next to her and put an arm round her shoulders. "How do you feel? What happened?"

"I – I don't know!" She buried her head in her grandmother's chest. "Oh, I thought – I thought – "

She could not finish; the horrible experience was too fresh in her mind. Vivienne stroked her hair and held her tightly.

"It's all right," she muttered softly. "You are home, and you are safe, from whatever it was." She turned to the two girls who were standing next to her awkwardly, their faces frightened. "Go to the cabinet in the corner," she told them, "and get me the decanter you find there, and a glass, too."

When Margaux had dutifully fetched the potion, Vivienne measured out a small quantity into the glass and made Fleur drink it. After a convulsive shudder or two, the girl relaxed visibly.

"Now, _cherie,_" her grandmother said quietly. "When you are ready, won't you tell us what happened?"

Fleur took a deep breath.

"De- dementors!" she managed to say at last.

The others looked at her, shocked and incredulous.

"Dementors? But – but they are far away in Azkaban!" Margaux said, her eyes wide. "And they work FOR us! What would a dementor be doing in the middle of Paris?"

"Are you sure, Fleur?" Vivienne asked gently.

"No – yes – I don't know…"

"Try to remember; what did you feel, see, hear?"

"Suddenly everything went dark… and then there was that horrible cold… I managed to light my wand, you see, and then… then I saw it… a huge hooded something, gliding, not walking, and I heard that terrible rattling gasping breathing… It was- "

Her voice faded away, and she buried her face in her hands. Vivienne moved her hand up and down her back in soothing motions.

"Sounds like a dementor all right," Iphigenie said in a whisper. "What did you do?"

"I was in a panic, I didn't really know what I was doing; I think I tried a couple of idiotically simple spells, and of course none of them worked… Can you believe it, I even did Wingardium… Funny enough, it even seemed to work for a second or two… but-"

"Wingardium leviosa?" Vivienne interjected.

"Yes. Silly of me, I know. Why are you asking?"

"No matter; we'll talk about that later. What happened next?"

"I'm not sure; I recalled about thinking happy thoughts, but of course it was next to impossible in my state of mind. And I believe I shouted Harry's name. And then there was a sudden white light, and I think I saw some kind of animal, a horse or something, that attacked the dementor… I'm not sure, everything was so fast, I may have imagined it…"

"A Patronus!" Iphigenie said excitedly. "Nothing else helps against a dementor!"

"But I can't do a Patronus!" Fleur said numbly. "You know I can't. You never learn it at school. They only teach us the theory."

"Because they claim that dementors are basically harmless," Vivienne remarked grimly. "Just going after the bad guys… Well it seems there is a lesson the authorities still have to learn. But then, where did that Patronus come from? Only very powerful and accomplished magic can produce one. Do you know anybody whose it could have been?"

The girls looked at her blankly without answering.

"I wish I knew," Fleur muttered. "Whoever it was saved my life, there in the park." She sat quietly for some time, lost in thought.

"Don't ask me why," she said finally, "But I – somehow I have a feeling it's something to do with Harry… I seem to remember a rumour… in Hogwarts, they said he dealt with dementors in his third year… and it is said that he learned to do a Patronus, too!"

"Harry? In third year? How did he do it? A thirteen year old boy, doing magic of the most advanced sort?"

"I know, I know; but this is what people said, and from what I have seen him do, I can believe it, too, impossible as it may seem to you. But you don't know Harry Potter! There's something about him…"

"Well, I expect it's just as good an explanation as any other," Vivienne stated. "Everything seems completely impossible – dementors in the middle of Paris, a Patronus out of nowhere… why shouldn't it be possible for Harry Potter to save you over a distance of a thousand kilometres?"

"Far more important, though," Iphigenie, ever practical, put in, "what's a dementor's business in muggle Paris, and, still more important, was it an accident, or-"

"Or did it go for me on purpose?"

"I suppose that's what I meant," Iphigenie's voice was very quiet.

"I'll see the Minister herself first thing next morning," Vivienne said grimly. "And she'd better have a good sound explanation for me, too! Seems they must keep a closer watch on those creatures' movements. Dementors at Sacre Coeur! What will it be next? Dragons on the top of the Eiffel Tower?"

"Do you know, I'm not sure I'd not prefer the dragons!"

"Ah, _ma cherie,_ that's the spirit! See, you're smiling again! Now, don't you think you'd better go to bed and try to sleep it off?"

"We'll stay with you for the night, if you like," Margaux offered. Fleur accepted gratefully and the three girls withdrew to Fleur's room.

Of course, Gabrielle had woken up and had to be told everything, too, which took some time, especially as she had not heard of dementors before. She found it hard to imagine such creatures really existed.

"But what are they?" she kept asking. "Where do they come from?"

"Nobody knows," they told her. "Some learned wizards believe that they are the accumulated fears and sorrows of generations of humans that have taken on a visible form. But it's only a theory; and it isn't really important, is it? Wizards have employed them as prison guards at Azkaban…"

"How can they EMPLOY such awful creatures? You say there is almost no protection against them; isn't it dangerous?"

"Apparently;" Margaux said dryly. "If what happened to Fleur is any example."

Gabrielle was not too surprised when she heard about the idea that somehow Harry Potter had been able to save her sister, even if he was back in England all the time.

"Why shouldn't it have been like that? Harry is special, he can do loads of things nobody else can, I'm sure of that. Why don't you owl him right away and ask him if anything strange has been happening to him?"

"You are such a clever little girl, Gabie," Fleur said fondly. "Yes, I'll do exactly that: but I really have to rest first. Just don't let me fall asleep…"

With these words, she dropped down on her bed and was fast asleep before her head even touched the pillow.

"Just let her sleep it off," Margaux said. "She'll need it. And tomorrow's still another day."

Xxxxxxxxxxx

"WHAT happened?"

Voldemort's voice, although still cold, rose. The Death Eater in front of him took a hasty step back.

"I cannot explain it, my Lord," he said, his voice shaking in spite of himself. He knew only too well how much his master hated any sign of weakness. "But it must have been a Patronus - nothing else works against dementors..."

"Tell me something, new, fool," Voldemort hissed impatiently. "What - EXACTLY - happened?"

"As you instructed me, my Lord, I was monitoring their every movement, and when she left the others and walked away from them, I judged the time had come. So I set the dementor on her, using the spell you so generously taught me..."

"Stop dithering, how did she react?"

"She could resist for a very short time, in fact she even managed to light her wand, but then she must have panicked - she tried a few ridiculously simple and - of course, - quite useless spells, it was quite amusing -"

Seeing that Voldemort was not amused at all, the Death Eater returned to a serious tone of voice hurriedly and continued.

"Anyway, the dementor was coming nearer, and was just about to -" he stopped himself, but not quickly enough.

"About to what?" came the cold voice, and the menace was almost tangible. "She was only to be frightened! Are you telling me the dementor was going to really kiss her?"

"No, master!" the frightened Death Eater screamed, even as the Curse hit him and sent him writhing to the floor.

"Incompetent idiot," Voldemort said placidly, watching the convulsions of his servant for a minute before lifting the curse.

"Rise, and thank your stars that she did not come to any harm... And don't tell me," he added as an afterthought, "that you had everything under control and would have stopped the dementor in time... Never lie to Lord Voldemort. On with your report now!"

"Yes, my Lord." The Death Eater did not dare to wipe the sweat from his face. Just before I- just before the dementor had reached her, the- the Patronus appeared; blinding white light, an animal shape, charging the dementor, which vanishes... all the signs are there."

"Can she have conjured it?"

"No, master, I am perfectly sure of that. If you had seen her yourself... all those absurd spells... Impossible! And she would not have fainted if it had been her spellwork."

"No, I suppose not. Could you see what shape the animal was?"

"It was all so very quick, master... Horse-like, and I believe it had antlers... yes, I am almost sure of it... a stag..."

"A stag?"

The Dark Lord's voice was more a shriek than articulate speech, as he half rose from his chair. The Death Eater, horrified, crouched down at his feet.

"Yes... yes, master. What does it mean, master?"

"Nothing; it seems the plan was successful, this is what matters. Keep your eyes open, and do not let me find you blundering again. It is vital that she be sent to Hogwarts in September."

A/N: Now, if you find the time, how about some guesses: Why would it be so important for old Voldie to have Fleur at Hogwarts?


	8. Reactions

Although I'm repeating myself – sorry for the delay, but things just happen… For those who don't know yet, I'm NOT JKR and so I don't own anything except perhaps this bloody computer that keeps mocking me… I'm just borrowing her characters to make them do what I want them to do…

Thank you all for those wonderful reviews, I'll do my humble best to live up to them.

Ok, so here goes…

Chapter 8 Reactions

_Dear Fleur,_

_ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?_

_There are such a lot of things I have to tell you, but they are all ridiculously unimportant compared to this one question. _

_But perhaps you have no idea what I'm talking about, and I'm just getting nuts and am imagining things? So I guess I'll check myself and begin at the beginning:_

_Never mind where and how, but I had this frightening vision – or dream, or whatever it was. You were attacked by a dementor! I heard you scream – yes, I'm sure it was your voice! It was all there, the cold, and the darkness, everything… Don't I know about dementors, those horrible things! And then, suddenly, the bright white light… You conjured a Patronus, didn't you? I do so hope you are safe! I'm counting the minutes until I hear from you!_

_Until I hear from you? That might be the catch, because this is my other piece of news:_

_Dumbledore has been talking to me, and guess what he told me? Apparently, because Voldemort has my blood in him now, the spells and wards that have protected me at the Dursleys' house all these years are no good any more. And so they are taking me to some secret headquarters for more safety. And, of course, this safety requires that nobody, not even me, knows where I'm going. It's only been with some difficulty that they would even let me write this letter to you before leaving. So I would not be surprised if your owl had problems finding me. Do you know, I almost wish I could stay with the Dursleys? I know it sounds crazy, a couple of hours ago I'd have given anything to get away from them, but now…Just imagine, they even insist on reading this letter before I send Hedwig away with it!_

_I'm terribly worried about you, Fleur, just let me know if you are all right! I don't know what I'd do if I lost you!_

_All my love,_

_Harry_

_PS written by Albus Dumbledore:_

_My dear Mademoiselle Delacour, I also sincerely hope this letter finds you well. As Harry says, we have to take him to a safe place urgently, and lines of communications may become difficult. Therefore, it is probably wise to send your reply directly with Harry's owl; she will know where to find him. Owls, as you will be aware of, have their own ways of finding their addressees… Just kindly remember not to mention any names in your correspondence, and just to TELL the owl who to go to. DO NOT WRITE the name of the recipient on the envelope. We will try to contact you again as soon as possible; the whole incident is highly mysterious and it seems to be of the utmost expedience to investigate it. My best regards also to your esteemed grandmother;_

_A.D._

"I knew it!" Fleur exclaimed enthusiastically. "I was sure Harry had something to do with it. So it was him who saved me – and over a distance of more than a thousand kilometres!"

"So it seems, _cherie,_" Vivienne said gently. "And you know what that means, don't you?"

"No. What?"

"Just think of it: What would it need for him to be able to do a thing like that?"

"I don't know… perhaps… No! You are saying-"

She jumped up from her bed where she had been reading the letter, her eyes shining.

"Yes, dear. Only a very strong emotional connection between the two of you can have made it possible. In other words-"

"His love for me!"

"And yours for him; these things work both ways, don't you forget this!" Suddenly, her voice took on a serious tone. "And of course, this means that prophecy-"

"Must not be taken lightly! Oh, grandma, I've never thought much of it before, but now… There must be a lot more behind it than we can imagine. If we only knew more…"

"Unfortunately, that's exactly the nature of a prophecy. I have often wondered why they can't just state things in a simple and easy to understand way. Half the ancient Greek tragedies wouldn't have happened… Some weird kind of humour, if you ask me."

"Whatever; of course I'll have to write to him at once, to stop him worrying. Hedwig seems to be getting impatient already."

Indeed, the snowy owl, who was sitting on the dresser, was ruffling her feathers and clicking her beak in an unmistakeable manner.

"I wonder, if I transformed again,…" Fleur said looking at Hedwig dreamily.

"You mean, you could follow her to Harry, like you did the other day? Don't even think of it!"

"Why?" Fleur pulled a petulant face.

"One, you are still too exhausted after your encounter with the dementor. You know yourself how exacting the transformation is, and it would be far too dangerous in your present state; two, Dumbledore says that Harry is in a secret and secure place. When he says secure, he means secure, and I am perfectly certain that you would not be able to approach it; and, finally, it might be even more dangerous if you COULD get to that place, because, for all you know, you might be watched and followed; indeed you could lead _Vous-savez-quis _directly to Harry, and I don't think you'd want that."

"Of course not," Fleur sounded quite deflated, "you're right as usual. So as for that letter…"

After the letter had been duly written and dispatched, Fleur turned to her grandmother again.

"I had no idea you knew Dumbledore…" she began.

Vivienne smiled.

"Yes, I remember him well. We met at an international peace conference after the defeat of Grindelwald, some fifty years ago. He advocated equal rights for non-human magical creature very fervently. You know, like house-elves, centaurs, even werewolves – and Veela, of course in the situation shortly after Grindelwald's defeat, the magical community seemed to be possessed by very strong good will, and they accepted a lot of his propositions. Oh, I admired him a good deal… Not only was he so open-minded and positive in his attitudes, he was also great fun to talk to…"

"Grandma, I do believe you are blushing!"

"Well, I may have had the tiniest little crush on him, I won't deny it," Vivienne replied dreamily. "Your grandfather had been dead some seven years, and I did feel a bit lonely… But it wouldn't have been any good, of course," she finished resolutely.

"Why?"

"Oh, imagine, he the greatest wizard of the time, world-famous vanquisher of evil… Do you think he'd have had the mind for…"

"But grandma, you could have made him notice you!"

"I could have, naturally, and I almost did… But it would have been wrong, wouldn't it? It would have made both of us miserable; you know that, don't you?"

"Of course I know, grandma," Fleur said quietly. "It just – would have been so – so nice…"

"I'm sure it would, _cherie_, I'm sure of that."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Yvonne Sangfroid, the French Minister of Magic, looked up from her desk when she heard the plopping noise of a person Apparating.

"Ah, Vivienne," she said, trying in vain to sound pleasantly surprised. "It's always so nice to see you, but-"

"No pleasantries, if you please." Vivienne's tone was brisk and businesslike, but with a hint of anger. "I want to know what dementors are doing in the middle of Paris."

"What? I have no idea what you are talking about!"

"Do you know, it wouldn't even surprise me," the sarcasm was thick like honey. "My granddaughter was attacked by a dementor – yesterday evening, in the park of Sacre Coeur. And I want to know what the ministry has got to say to that."

"Attacked – by a dementor? Are you sure?"

"No, she is all right, she escaped, thank you for asking." The anger was more distinct now. "What is the Ministry's comment?"

"There- there must be some error, some mistake. Who knows what that girl saw or heard or whatever!" The Minister was starting to regain her composure. "Dementors in Paris? What nonsense! They are guarding Azkaban, everybody knows that! The Ministry has full control of them; we would know if one of them… No, absolutely impossible!"

"So my granddaughter is a liar?" The steely edge in Vivienne's voice was glinting dangerously.

"What?" The Minister's voice wavered slightly. "No, of course not; not a liar. But- you know what young people are like.. highly imaginative… distracted… in love… they will be sure something really happens while it's just…"

Her voice faltered away when she caught Vivienne's eye.

"I can judge that for myself, thank you very much! I just want you to look into that dementor business. It shouldn't be too difficult to find out if all of them are where they belong, and if they have ever left their stations in the last 24 hours. I don't think this is asking too much. And when- only when you can prove that nothing out of the ordinary has happened, then I'll start considering different explanations. Can and will you do that?"

"I still don't see why this should be necessary. How can you take such a ridiculous idea seriously?"

It was only with some difficulty that Vivienne could restrain herself from transforming into a harpy.

"I'll tell you how I can! Now that _Vous-savez-quis _is back one has to be prepared for the worst!"

The minister drew herself up to her full height, which, unfortunately still fell about one head short of the Veela's.

"Ah, that's what it is, is it? My dear Vivienne, I can assure you there' nothing in that absurd notion. I've been talking to Minister Fudge from Britain, and he predicted there would be some rumours like that. But he is quite certain that there is absolutely nothing in it."

"But he did tell you what happened at the Tournament, didn't he?"

"Of course. An unfortunate accident, nothing more and nothing less. And he said he didn't blame the Potter boy for getting these strange ideas, - difficult mental condition and all... But he is perfectly sure that the idea of _Vous-savez-quis _back is completely preposterous. How ever could you even begin to think of it as an explanation to what happened to your granddaughter?"

"My granddaughter was THERE, she saw it HAPPEN, my DEAR Yvonne. And I'm a thousand times more willing to believe her than that pompous old fool who calls himself minister of magic. Fleur told me he would try to ignore the whole thing as long as he can, and I see he is doing a very good job of it. So I understand you won't do a check on all the dementors in the ministry's employment?"

"I would love to, Vivienne, just to show to you that there is absolutely nothing in this absurd idea of yours... But there are so many things to be done, you know..."

"Like a conference of the European Wizarding Community on regulating cauldron sizes, I expect? Oh, I see I'm just wasting my time. Good day!"

And unable to restrain her anger any longer she gave in to the strong urge and transformed into a harpy and with a deafening shriek flew out of the open window.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Margaux and Iphigenie had got up late, exhausted after the terrifying events in the Parc Sacre Coeur. Now they were having breakfast on the tiny balcony of their flat, up on the fifth floor of the picturesque house near Pere Lachaise.

"It seems so absurd, looking at this gorgeous day, what happened yesterday, don't you think?" Margaux mused sleepily.

"Yes, it's hard to believe it really happened," Iphigenie agreed. "You don't think she-"

"Imagined it all? Well… she fainted seriously enough, so something must have been wrong with her…"

"Obviously; but – a dementor?"

"Hmm, I guess whatever it was, was harmful for her, even if it wasn't really a dementor, something meant to hurt her, so much is for sure…"

"Do you think it's- it's something to do with- you know, what happened at the tournament?"

_"Vous-savez-qui_? We can't know, but I think there's quite a strong possibility- Hey, what's that?"

With a soft swish of feathery wings a large colourful bird was fast approaching their tiny table, and presently a rainbow-coloured envelope was dropped onto Margaux' plate. With another swish of feathers, the bird, a parrot, as they could see now, was gone.

Margaux' eyes lit up.

"It's from _Bellesfringues_!" she exclaimed excitedly, grabbing the letter. "Oh, I'm so nervous… will they have those jobs for us, do you think?"

"There's only one way to find out," Iphigenie told her, pretending to remain cool, but the sparkle in her eyes giving her away. Hurriedly, Margaux opened the envelope and glanced at the equally rainbow-coloured letter.

With a loud whoop she jumped up from her chair.

"Yes! Yes! We're in! Listen:

_Dear Mlles Bellefontaine and Durberville, -_ blabla –

_…happy to inform you that we can offer you two positions as assistant sales managers…starting September first. As we understand you have some experience abroad-_ that's ridiculous, isn't it, we were in Scotland for a couple of months, can you call that experience abroad? – _you will be appointed to our newly established branch in – _"

She broke off suddenly.

"What?" Iphigenie inquired.

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT! Listen-"

"I AM listening, but you aren't reading!"

"Listen! …_newly established branch in – HOGSMEADE, GREAT BRITAIN!"_

"No!"

"Yes! Look!" And she handed her friend the letter.

Aghast, Iphigenie took the letter, but of course Margaux had read correctly.

"D'you think we should?" she asked hesitantly, handing the letter back.

"Are you joking? _Bellesfringues_ are one of the most famous wizarding fashion establishments in Europe, if not the entire world! AND we'll get the chance to build up a completely new store! Do you know how often a chance like this will come our way? I'll tell you – once in a lifetime! No, we'd be criminally stupid to reject an offer like this. Oh boy, will Fleur be jealous!"

Iphigenie's face clouded over.

"But- but how will she take it? We're her friends, no, we're about her ONLY fiends… can we just leave her here? Who will look after her?"

To Margaux' credit, her exuberance paled somewhat.

"You're right, of course. It will be a bit hard on her; but then, think of it – she'll start school in September, and will be off at Beauxbatons, anyway, where we cannot be with her. So I don't think it will make all that much of a difference. Moreover-" here her grin was back in place again, "we can send her invitations to visit us for the holidays, and I'd like to see her mother stop her from coming!"

"Well, if you put it like this…" Iphigenie still sounded a bit doubtful, but Margaux grabbed both her hands, pulled her up from her chair causing the cups and saucers to rock dangerously, and started to waltz through the living room with her. Infected by her girlfriend's enthusiasm, Iphigenie relented.

"But YOU will tell Fleur, won't you?" she said breathlessly, when they came to a standstill after a couple of minutes.

"Yes, I will, don't worry, _cherie,"_ Margaux reassured her and planted a firm kiss on her lips.

"Whatever it takes to make you happy…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Fleur, _ma petite,_ how are you feeling?"

Fleur, who, after sending Hedwig off with a few reassuring lines to Harry, had drifted off to sleep again, woke slowly to the soft voice of her mother.

"How are you feeling?" Isabeau repeated, putting her hand lightly on Fleur's head. "How horrible for you! I hurried back from Paris as soon as I heard what had happened. Oh my, what the world is coming to! Not safe in our own town any more! Have you recovered a bit already?"

Fleur, although she was still vaguely wondering about her mother's behaviour, was too tired to think clearly.

"I don't know," she whispered, allowing herself to relax against her mother's soft touch.

"Don't talk," Isabeau muttered in a soothing tone, "I've heard more than enough. And I'm not going to have my daughter exposed to any dangers if I can help it, so I thought I'd just tell you my decision right now. You are not going back to Beauxbatons this year!"

"But – _Maman_ " Fleur was suddenly a lot more awake than a minute ago, "I must finish my education! I can't just drop out of school!"

"Who's saying that?" her mother smiled. "I would never think of anything like that. No, of course you must finish school! But I intend to send you some place where you will be safe, safer than at Beauxbatons, at any rate."

"Where?" Fleur asked anxiously.

"Yes, dear, you will do your last year at a different school. I know you'd rather stay with your friends, and it's always difficult to adapt to new surroundings and people, but then, you won't be a complete stranger to the place-"

_Can she really mean what I think she means?_

Fleur stared at her mother in complete surprise.

"You mean- you're not talking about-"

"But I am, dear. I'm talking about Hogwarts. They say it's the safest school in all Europe, if not the entire world. And the most prestigious, to boot…Yes, you are going to do your final year there, and take your exams."

"But- Madame Maxime?"

"She won't like it, of course, you're one of her best students, after all. But I will deal with her; and I expect there will be no problem with the Hogwarts headmaster, either."

All doubts and suspicions fell from Fleur's mind; she threw her arms round her mother's neck, something she had not done for years, and started sobbing on her shoulder.

"I understand you don't like it," Isabeau said to her, "but it-"

"But _Maman,_ you don't understand! It's wonderful! I never dreamed something like this would happen… Oh, I'm so happy! I'll be able to see Harry all the time…"

Isabeau said nothing, but kept stroking her daughter's back.


	9. The Black House

A/N: Again, I'm awfully sorry for taking so long with this, but there's been another attack of so-called RL. Annoying, how much time this takes that one would much rather use writing! Anyway, here is the next piece. Nothing really going on this time, to be honest. The problem with this kind of thing is, of course, that I am drawing on things as described in OoP, but have an AU story going. You'll have noticed there are no dementors attacking Harry here, and there will be other differences, naturally. Also, I don't want to bore readers with descriptions they already know, although they are important to keep this fic well rounded. I hope I have found an acceptable way to do this. The next chapter will be about Fleur's end of the story again. Keep your fingers crossed that it doesn't take so long again.

**Chapter 9 - The Black House**

Plop! Clinging to Dumbledore's robes, Harry found himself in what seemed to be a damp cellar of sorts, and plop! They were in the crypt of a church; Plop! And the place was a deep black, possibly a cave, with water dripping in the distance. With a final Plop! They came to a halt in a corridor with black wood panelling and a threadbare carpet on the floor, dimly lit by a huge candelabrum which had only a small number of candles in it. The whole place had an aura of shabbiness about it, as if it had not been lived in for a long time.

Harry, who was not accustomed to Apparating, felt quite dizzy and if Dumbledore had not stopped him, he would probably have collapsed.

"Where-?" he began, but there was a huge crash in the back of the corridor and an enormous shaggy black dog came rushing at him, barking madly. When the animal had reached Harry, it jumped up at him, trying to lick his face, and almost pushing him over in the process.

It took Harry a second or two to gather his wits. "Sirius?" He could not quite believe it, but a look at Dumbledore's smiling face reassured him. "Sirius!" He shouted again.

Presently the dog transformed into Harry's godfather, Sirius Black.

"Welcome, Harry!" he said beaming at him. "It's so good to have you here!" And he enveloped Harry in an enormous hug that he could almost feel his bones creak.

"I must apologize for the state of this house," Sirius added after a while. "I mean, it's my family's home, - has been for generations, actually, and look at it! Horrible! If it's any excuse, I was in no position to look after it properly for quite a couple of years…"

Harry, who knew only too well what his godfather was talking about, said nothing, but only gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. His eyes, however, betrayed the swirl of emotions that was rushing through him.

"Welcome at the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, smiling at the two affectionately.

"Order of what?"

"You'll learn about it in due course, Harry," Sirius said, putting a heavy arm on his godson's shoulder. "But I expect you will be a bit tired and confused after all that Apparating, so why don't you come along and rest while we are having a nice long talk about all the things you want to know? And I expect there will be rather a lot of them, too," he added.

"You're right I guess," Harry muttered, still not quite able to form a continuous train of thoughts. "Why did we have to do all that, anyway? I mean, what was it all about, those many different stops in all those weird places?"

"To make sure we were not being followed, of course," Dumbledore remarked mildly. "If, as we were quite certain, you were being watched, we had to hide our tracks very carefully. All those places were protected, you see, and it's as good as impossible that any spies could keep up with our movements. But Sirius is perfectly right, why don't we all sit down comfortably and talk everything over?"

"We all?"

"Why, of course, there are quite a lot of people waiting for you, Harry!"

"Not – my friends? Ron, Hermione?"

"Just wait one more minute, Harry. This way please."

And putting his arm round Harry's shoulder he steered him towards the dark staircase in the back of the corridor that was leading upstairs. Up the creaking stairs they went and arrived on the first floor. The impression of shabbiness was even stronger here, the wallpaper was coming off in several places, and the large mirror between the two black oaken doors was blind and encrusted in cobwebs. Through the one window at the end of the corridor Harry could see it was already dark outside.

"Over here," Sirius said, opening one of the doors and ushering Harry inside.

Before he had even time to look around, he felt himself enveloped in another huge hug, but the fact that it was two people kept him from losing his balance this time.

"Harry!" squealed Hermione's voice, and "Hi, mate!" came Ron's, more slowly.

When they let him finally go, Harry could breathe again.

"Hi, folks," he said, grinning at them somewhat sheepishly.

Only now he found the time to look at his surroundings. Like everything in the house, this room was dark and rather shabby, although it seemed that some intensive cleaning had been going on recently. The floor was shining, and the curtains in front of the high windows looked new. There was a huge massive table in the centre of the room, surrounded by a number of high-backed chairs. A bulky room-high buffet, intrinsically carved, and with stained-glass doors, filled the far wall, and a faded tapestry was on his right. Some people were sitting at the table.

But Harry's share of hugs for the evening was not over yet.

"Welcome, Harry!" said Molly Weasley, beaming at him and enveloping him in a warm motherly embrace. "It's so good to see you!"

"Hello, Harry!" Arthur Weasley shook his hand energetically, and behind their father Fred and George were grinning at him broadly.

"Have a seat, Harry," said Dumbledore, steering him towards the table.

Still rather confused, Harry sat down, noticing vaguely that the high-backed chair was hard and rather uncomfortable. There was the sound of chairs being moved while the Weasleys and Hermione took seats, too, and finally Dumbledore himself sat down next to him. Silence descended on the room, and Harry could at last have a look at the other people present. He flinched involuntarily at the sight of Moody, remembering only too well the impostor who had almost killed him only a couple of weeks ago, and he smiled at Remus Lupin, but apart from these, he saw no familiar faces.

"Welcome once again, Harry," Dumbledore said finally. "Perhaps I should start with introductions…"

Some time later, when he was lying in bed in an upstairs room listening to Ron's snoring from the bed on the other side, Harry was trying in vain to go to sleep. Too many things had happened since he had entered Mrs. Figg's house. How long ago had it been? He had lost all sense of time, what with his mysterious vision of Fleur being attacked by the Dementor, and the long and complicated Apparating tour that Dumbledore had taken him on. Could it really be only a couple of hours? It must be, as it was still dark outside the high window, through which the yellow light of some street lamps was dimly shining.

"The Order of the Phoenix…," Harry muttered to himself. "Who were all those people?"

There had been Moody, of course, and Harry could still not help a shiver of apprehension thinking of the old Auror's scarred and mutilated face; then Lupin, whom Harry had been especially happy to see, remembering how helpful and kind he had been to him, and, best of all, Sirius.

Harry smiled to himself, as he remembered how embarrassed his godfather had been because of the state of his house, how he had apologised repeatedly for the dirt and griminess of the place.

"But of course it's not your fault, Sirius!" Harry had told him. "You were away on – business; you couldn't have possibly looked after it, could you?"

"But I've been back for more than a year, and look at all of it…"

"Still, you were away for – how long? – eleven years, twelve… You can't possibly make up for all those years in such a short time!"

He had seen Molly Weasley looking grim at his words, but she did not say anything.

Apart from these three, - and the Weasleys, of course, - Harry had never seen any of the order members before, and a curious assortment they were indeed.

Most prominent, there was a very large black man, whose name, however, Harry could not recall, something with "King" in it, as far as he remembered; then, the most unlikely of all, a wizard of unkempt grimy appearance, who had kept smoking a pipe of something that, as Harry recalled very clearly, smelled like a mixture of damp seaweed and horse manure, and who, as Harry remembered with a grin, was called "Dung" by everybody, but did not seem to mind. Finally, and again Harry smiled in remembrance, that weird young woman, in her early twenties, probably, who had been changing the colour of her hair and the size of her nose constantly.

"Nymphadora Tonks," Dumbledore had introduced her, at which she had pulled a face – quite literally, as mouth had grown twice as large, and her lips had contorted into an absolutely unnatural put, - and retorted shortly, "Tonks, just Tonks, if you please."

"Nymph- I mean, Tonks, is a metamorphmagus," Dumbledore had explained, seeing Harry's expression.

"Meta- what?"

"Metamorphmagus, Harry. She can change her outward appearance at will. Just give him a demonstration, N- Tonks, will you?"

And Tonks, smiling at Harry broadly, complied and changed her short sandy coloured hair into a long purple mane in an instant, which had impressed Harry a good deal.

"It's what every girl dreams of, really," Tonks said with a mischievous grin.

"All these are members of what we call the Order of the Phoenix, Harry," Dumbledore had said indicating the large table with a sweeping gesture. "And there are many more, who have not been able to be here today. We have dedicated ourselves to the fight against Voldemort, and as you are his most dangerous and endangered enemy, it is only fit you should be introduced to it, as well."

"We don't usually admit members that are still underage," Remus said with an apologetic smile. "It's dangerous, too dangerous for inexperienced youngsters…"

"But seeing as you can hardly be in any more danger than you are already, we thought we'd make an exception," Sirius had seconded.

After these preliminaries, Harry had been made to tell everybody about his vision – or whatever it was – of the Dementor attacking Fleur. They had all listened with interest, but nobody had ventured any comment when Harry finished.

"If I only knew what to think of it," he had said at last. "It drives me nuts, really, not to know…"

"You have done what you could," Dumbledore said gently. "And you know that even owls of very strong magic like Hedwig need some time… But I should expect her back pretty soon now."

There had not been anything Harry could say to that, and after a late night snack served by Molly Weasley – which Harry did not feel like taking at all, but pretended to out of politeness,- he and Ron had climbed the ill-lit stairs to the room they were to share, where Ron had fallen asleep instantly.

Just as, after all the excitement, Harry was dropping off to sleep, he heard the familiar tapping of Hedwig's beak at the window. Suddenly wide awake, he rushed over to open it, trying to make as little noise as possible. (He could have saved himself the trouble, nothing short of a trumpeting elephant would ever wake Ron once he was asleep.)

"Hey, girl," he said softly as the snowy owl alighted on his arm. "You ARE fast! To France and back just in these few hours! Let's see what you've got!"

The letter had no address on it. It was an inconspicuous pale blue envelope, but the familiar faint scent of lilacs came from it, causing him to smile.

"This must be from her!" he said to himself, and opened the envelope eagerly.

_My dear friend,_

_As you know, I cannot write much. But I can tell you at least that you do not have to worry about me. Yes, what you saw was true, but it was not I who solved the problem. I have no idea how or why, but I am absolutely sure it was YOU!_

_I am at home now safe, and more or less sound, too, just exhausted. As I have been told not to say anything specific, I will finish now, until a better occasion arises. I'm just too weak o think clearly now._

_But I can still think clearly enough to know that I love you._

_Forever, F._

With a huge sigh of pure relief, Harry put the letter on his bedside table.

"She's ok, Hedwig," he said, stroking the owl's feathers. "She's fine."

And when his head touched the pillow this time, he fell asleep instantly.

It seemed only minutes when he felt himself shaken.

"Harry! Wake up! Time for breakfast!"

"Leave me alone, Dud," he muttered, but then he started to wonder. Dudley would never speak to him in that friendly voice… Slowly he realised it was Ron's voice. As he opened his eyes, he saw the sun shining in through the grimy windows. After another few seconds, he remembered what had happened and where he was. Ron had already put his clothes on and was shaking him vigorously.

"Breakfast time!" he repeated.

"Trust you to have food as a motivation for standing up," Harry teased as he got out of bed and pulled on the jeans and T-shirt he had been wearing when he arrived. "There's not much else to do in this place, is there?"

"How right you are, mate," Ron said, and there was a note of tiredness in his voice. "I'm almost glad mom's assigned me to the cleaning squad…"

"What?"

"The cleaning squad. She's sure to make you take part, too. But wait until she tells you…"

Ron led the way to the basement, where most of the people from the previous evening were sitting around the huge able, which was full of all the assorted glories of the English breakfast. When the two of them entered, everybody rose, and at a sign from Dumbledore, they started singing.

"Happy birthday to you!"

Speechless, Harry stood there, while everybody started to rush towards him. Sirius was first.

"Harry," he said, and his voice sounded choked, "I wish you a very happy birthday! I've been waiting for this for so long…" He trailed off, and hid his emotions in a crushing hug.

After Sirius, the others shook his hands, or gave him hugs, Molly with tears in her eyes, Ron with an awkward pat on the back, and Ginny blushing furiously, which reminded Harry of her Valentine's card in second year and made him smile.

After the commotion had died down, Harry cleared his throat, feeling he was expected to say something.

"Thank you all," he said uncertainly. "This is great – I mean, this is absolutely the best birthday I've ever had! I never knew there were so many people that liked me… Well, thank you…"

And he sat down at the table and starting helping himself to the bacon and tomatoes to hide his embarrassment.

After breakfast, Arthur Weasley Accio'd Harry's presents into he kitchen, and he spent the next one hour and a half opening them and sorting through the growing pile of chocolate frogs, every flavour beans and other sweets, a Chudley Cannons shawl and cap, as well as a study guide and homework planner ("I know who THAT is from!"), and some mysterious boxes that he treated with delicate care, knowing they were from the Weasley twins.

After this delightful job he took all the presents up to his room. He was just sitting down on his bed, when the door opened and Mrs. Weasley entered, Ron, Hermione and Ginny in tow. When he saw that she and the girls were wearing aprons, and had their hair tied back with scarves, and noticed the bucket and broom Ron was carrying with an apologetic grin, he remembered the cleaning squad.

"Harry, dear," began Molly Weasley, and she had the decency to look embarrassed. "We thought, - seeing as you have nothing to do right now, - perhaps you'd want to help us…"

"She means," corrected Ron, that SHE thought why shouldn't you do some sensible work, now you are here, and could help clean up this dump."

"Ok," said Harry, not too unhappy to get something to do to take his mind off things. "Where do we start?"

The next couple of hours passed in a flurry of sweeping, dusting and polishing, with Mrs. Weasley continuously grumbling about "that impossible house elf" that "should be given clothes right away", accompanied by Hermione's reproachful looks, at which Harry and Ron would exchange smirks of their own.

"But, Mrs. Weasley," Harry asked, "I thought you could just use magic for this. I mean why don't you just wave your wand, say Scourgify, or something, and everything is as good as new?"

But it seemed there were ancient spells at work that inhibited the use of magic or even prevented it altogether. At any rate, they had to do most of their tasks they non-magical way, using soap and hot water; at least they could keep the water magically hot.

In the course of activities, Harry learned that the house was in one of the shabbier parts of London, one that had seen better times a hundred years a go; he heard that it was the ancient family home of the Black family, and that it had been empty during all the years Sirius had been in Azkaban.

"And that USELESS house elf apparently did not do a single thing all that time," Molly complained once again. "Really, if I had my way…"

By noon, they had finished giving Ron and Harry's room a thorough work over that left Molly finally satisfied.

"Time for lunch!" She exclaimed brightly and vanished the last bucket of dirty water, together with the heap of dirty dusters. "Isn't it a lovely feeling to have accomplished something worth doing, and to have earned your lunch?"

Ron and Harry exchanged another look, but said nothing.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Ok, friends, I'm back, again after an irressponsibly long time, but these things can't be helped. No there are vacations soon, perhaps I'll find more leisure for writing then. Yes, I can imagine why some of you liked the last chapter least, it's true that nothing at all happens, but I need to lay some foundations, especially when I'm taking different turns than in the book. Thus, also this chapter is not exactly full of action, but it has old Umbridge in it, and what I believe is a nice cliffhanger, too.

Chapter 10 Making Arrangements

A couple of days went by in which Fleur slowly recovered from the Dementor's attack. She felt exhausted and spent much time sleeping or dozing in a deckchair in the shade of the ancient trees in the chateau's gardens, watched over and taken care of by Vivienne and Gabrielle. Her mother was mostly away on business of her own in Paris; she would never specify what sort of business it was, and Fleur, for one, was feeling too tired to ask. She felt contented enough knowing she would be going to Hogwarts and meet Harry again, - not just meet him, as she kept reminding the part of her that was still frightened everything might turn out to be some misunderstanding, but be together with him for a whole school year!

As for her father, she was so used to him being abroad somewhere in Asia of Africa, exploring ancient tombs and other ruins looking for magical artefacts, she did not spend more than a fleeting thought on him. He had never been too interested in his two daughters, anyway, and none of the girls had ever missed him. He was nice enough on the rare occasions that he visited his family, but in a distant and far-off sort of way that had never allowed for emotional ties to form between him and his offspring.

"At least Maman is interested in us being good at school and becoming successful members of the haute vole," Fleur used to muse when they came to think about Gerard Delacour at all, "I believe it shows SOME affection for us, after all…"

Of course, this had been in the time of the 'old mother', while now Isabeau was still behaving like the 'new mother' she had turned into at Fleur's arrival from school.

So she had spent several days in blissful and dreamy idleness, when, one afternoon, while she was having her afternoon coffee with her sister and grandmother, Iphigenie and Margaux Apparated onto the lawn behind the chateau.

"How wonderful to see you again!" Fleur shouted, jumping up to embrace her friends.

"Yes, it's lovely! How are you? Have you recovered yet?" Margaux inquired. And Iphigenie added, "So sorry we haven't come to see you earlier, but we were afraid you were not in the mood…"

"After all, we should have noticed something was going on…"

"But we…"

Fleur stopped Iphigenie, laughing.

"Forget it; I'm perfectly fine again as you can see, and I'm happy to have you here again. And don't blame yourselves, there was really nothing you could have done. Sit down and have some coffee and try the delicious cake the house elves have prepared."

The two girls looked at each other uneasily, and Fleur, ever observant, noticed

"What's the matter? Is there anything wrong?"

"Erm… you're not going to like this, I'm afraid…" Margaux began.

"And we will of course come and see you whenever we can… But it's the greatest opportunity we could ever dream of…"

"What IS IT?"

"We're going to Hogsmeade in September…"

"WHAT?"

"And so we'll not be able to see you as often as we'd like to," Iphigenie went on.

"But we promise…"

But Fleur stopped their babbling hugging them enthusiastically. The two girls were speechless.

"You're not mad?"

Laughing harder than ever, Fleur panted, "But – I'm going to HOGWARTS!"

"You're what?"

"Yes, _cherie,_ Hogwarts! I'll spend the entire school year there!"

And she told her friends what her mother had decided.

"Just imagine," she finished breathlessly after her eager account. "I might even be sorted into the same house like him!"

"But then, you might as well end up in Slytherin," Iphigenie remarked dryly, but with a twinkle in her eyes.

"I bet I won't! But you're right, I probably shouldn't get my hopes up too high. I'm sometimes not sure I'm not dreaming, anyway. But I'm sorry, I quite forgot – what are YOU going to do over there?"

Now it was the girls' turn to tell about their new job in the fashion business.

"It's a great opportunity," Margaux stated. "I'd never have expected to get into international haute couture so quickly. If we can manage this successfully, it may be the starting point of an amazing career."

"You'll manage perfectly," Fleur assured her. "Not that it's very hard to show those guys what fashion really means…"

At which Margaux grinned and threw a napkin at her.

"You are aware, Madame, that this is a highly unusual procedure," Dumbledore said pensively to his visitor. "May I inquire why you are considering such an extraordinary measure?"

"My daughter was attacked by a Dementor!" Isabeau said with a rather dramatic air, pausing to heighten the effect of this certainly uncommon statement. When Dumbledore just raised a polite eyebrow but refrained from any comment, she went on.

"Attacked by a Dementor, and in the middle of muggle Paris, at that! I need hardly stress, headmaster, what that means…"

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly, but still did not say anything.

"If such a thing happens, it means she is not safe, even in the muggle world, then much less so in the magical one. And I know for a fact that Beauxbatons does not put great store by security at all. And I also know that Hogwarts is said to be the safest place in the magical world altogether. So I thought…"

"A Dementor, you say?" Dumbledore said suddenly, as if he had only just now realised what that implied. "There is no doubt about that, I presume?"

"Of course not!" There was a trace of anger in the elegant woman's voice.

"Perhaps an accident, or a mistake?"

"No! I am perfectly sure the foul creature was going exactly for her and nobody else. And small wonder, to be sure, after what happened at the final task of the Triwizard Tournament…"

"Ah!" For the first time in the conversation, Dumbledore leaned forward with signs of interest. "So you actually believe what the papers term _irresponsible rumour-mongering,_ or _fantasies of an attention-seeking, mentally unstable adolescent, _and, sometimes also _first signs of incipient senile dementia_?" His eyes twinkled behind the half-moon glasses.

For a moment Isabeau Delacour seemed put off, but she caught herself instantly.

"It doesn't matter; I daresay some of the ideas expressed by that boy WERE perhaps a result of his overstrained emotions, or whatever. But it's obvious that SOMETHING did happen, there was a death, after all, and it stands to reason that my daughter, whether she intended to or not, was involved in those events. So I would be an irresponsible fool not to come to this conclusion, you will agree."

"Of course," Dumbledore nodded his assent. "So what you propose is to send your daughter to Hogwarts – for how long?"

"I thought this was obvious – for the entire school year, of course. I'm not going to have her miss anything in her education. It's her last school year, and she'll be taking her finals here in Hogwarts, then. It will perhaps even be good for her magical education, too; after all, Hogwarts is considered to be the best magical school in all of Europe…"

Dumbledore made a deprecating gesture as she went on.

"I would appreciate it very much, headmaster, if you could grant my request. A mother' s foremost concern must always be her daughter's well-being."

"Of course," Dumbledore said again. "I will have to inform the school board of this, naturally, but I think I can assure you right now this is just a formality. She has been here before and will know her ways already, and as far as I am aware, her English is also good enough to allow her to follow lessons without any problems. Now and then, there may be some deficits, due to differences in the French and British curricula, but if she is quick enough on the uptake, this should be no problem. If needs be, I know exactly the person to tutor her…"

If Isabeau was not happy about the idea of somebody tutoring her daughter, she did at any rate not show it.

"Thank you, headmaster," she said with her most charming smile. "So I will see to it that she arrives here on September first. What time would you require her to be here?"

"The feast begins at eight, but as she will have to be sorted into one of the houses, and this will have to happen together with the first year students, I would advise that she arrive no later than six o'clock."

"She will be there," Isabeau said shortly, rising from her chair. "Well, thank you once again for your cooperation, I feel a lot better now."

She extended her hand, which Dumbledore, who had also risen politely and stepped out from behind his desk, put to his lips shortly.

"I am sure, Madame, your daughter will find her time here most enjoyable," he said, his eyes twinkling more than ever. "And I look forward to having her with us. _Au revoir,_ Madame, it was a pleasure talking to you. And please give my regards to your esteemed mother."

"Well, Fawkes," Dumbledore said to the phoenix, who, during the interview had been sitting on his perch quietly, eying the visitor with his unblinking beady eyes, "this is most interesting indeed."

He looked at the silver sneakoscope on the shelf behind the desk that was spinning madly on its axis, and smiled to himself.

"Stop smirking, Phineas," he said to one of the portraits on the wall. "I am quite aware that she is an attractive woman, but you, after all, are just a memory on canvas…"

The Minister of Magic was sitting in his chair behind his desk, which was littered with important looking papers. Lesser minds might have had doubts about the importance of such papers as _Suggestions on new standards regulating import tariffs on flying carpets, _but the Minister's cool, business-like mind (as he liked to see himself) knew otherwise. And anyway, they came in rather handy to demonstrate to visitors what a busy and therefore highly important person the occupant of this office was.

"You were asking to see me, Cornelius?" Dumbledore inquired politely on entering the room.

"Yes, yes," the Minister's voice took on the tone of a mixture of haughtiness and self-consciousness that it always acquired when he was talking to the headmaster. The truth was, of course, that he felt abysmally inferior to Dumbledore, and therefore loathed him deeply. But as he was also frightened of the powerful wizard, he was doing his best to hide those feelings. Not very successfully, as Dumbledore could have told him, but he did not ask.

To hide his uneasiness, he started busily shuffling a stack of papers (_Draft for new limits of pewter alloys in industrial cauldrons)_ on his desk, pretending to be engrossed in important tasks.

Patiently, Dumbledore conjured a comfortable red chintz chair, and sat down in front of the Minister's desk, calmly surveying the room. Of course he had been in Fudge's office countless times before, but the many photographs on the walls, all of them showing the fat short man in his ridiculous attire, complete with green bowler hat, at important occasions (initiating the new floo network control system, or unveiling the new statue of Oberon the Oblivious in Diagon Alley) never failed to amuse him. Basically, what followed was a test of nerves, and the outcome, of course, was clear from the beginning.

Some five or six minutes had passed, when Fudge finally had found a satisfying place for his stack of papers. He put them down and stroked them lovingly, then turned his attention to the headmaster.

"Yes," he repeated, rather absurdly. "Well, Albus, the thing is, erm… the new school year is about to start and you still don't seem to have found that new Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher that Hogwarts needs."

"I'm fully aware of the fact, Minister," Dumbledore admitted in quite a cheerful voice. "But if I may remind you, there is still time. The deadline after which the Ministry will have the right to suggest its own candidate is on the fifteenth."

"Today is already the tenth," Fudge growled impatiently. "Why do you expect to find someone if you haven't been able to do so in all the past weeks?"

"Well, let's just say that an idea came to me the other day…" Dumbledore said vaguely. "I'll let you know if it turns out to be successful. But – do you mean YOU have found someone? It's not exactly easy, you know, people say the job is cursed, which does not really seem to encourage applicants."

"Yes, I have indeed found a person willing to take that blasted job." Fudge straightened in his chair importantly."

"My congratulations, Cornelius." Dumbledore's voice betrayed nothing but mild surprise. "May I inquire as to that brave person's identity?"

This seeming compliance had a mitigating effect on the Minister.

"But of course, Albus," he almost crowed in satisfaction. "Actually this is exactly what I called you for."

He rang a small silver bell on his desk, and pretty young witch appeared through a side door.

"Yes, Minster?"

"Ah, Cheryl. Will you tell Madam Umbridge to come in, please?"

"Yes, Minister."

With a charming smile, - perhaps a bit too charming for a secretary, - the young witch left, leaving the door ajar, through which presently a woman entered, at whose sight Dumbledore groaned inwardly.

Short and rather heavily built, and in her fifties or so, she was quite incongruously dressed in pink robes, with a childish pink bow in her short curly her. Her flat and flabby face with the protruding eyes had a toadlike quality about it.

Without showing any of his emotion, Dumbledore rose to his feet politely an extended his hand.

"So it is you, Dolores, who would be willing to undertake the strenuous task? Let me congratulate on your courage."

"Thank you ever so much, headmaster," she replied in a high simpering voice and with a smile that did not reach her cold eyes. "I just endeavour to please the dear Minister here. It will be nice, though, to be back at dear old Hogwarts again. When do you want me to come? I expect it would be a good idea to be there early, to make preparations, arrangements, you know…"

"I would be honoured, Dolores, and I appreciate your willingness to leave your fascinating job here at the Ministry to help Hogwarts out in a difficult situation." Dumbledore said in his most polite voice. "However, as I was just pointing out to the Minister-" (he just narrowly avoided to say 'dear Minister') "the deadline for the Ministry to appoint a DADA teacher of their own has not been reached yet. There are still a few days left, and, as I was also saying, a little idea of my own has just come up that I want to look into first. I am sure you will understand this, Dolores. However, should my little idea come to nothing I will be only too happy to inform you immediately."

"As you wish, headmaster," Dolores Umbridge said, almost gnashing her teeth, and altogether making a bad job of pretending not to care.

"Would you care to tell me, Dumbledore," the equally disgruntled Minister interjected, "what that mysterious idea of yours is all about? You don't actually have a concrete person in mind, have you? Or, moreover, who would be willing to take that blasted job; especially for the pay you can offer," he finished with a smirk.

"Yes, the Ministry funding has been a tiny bit less than generous recently," Dumbledore agreed with a serene smile. "However, to answer your question, yes I have indeed a person in mind. A person, I may add, who will be more than competent in this function, with a rather comprehensive practical experience in various fields. I must admit I haven't yet asked whether that person would be interesting in taking the post, but I have some reason to believe there will be no problem… At any rate, should I be mistaken, I'll gladly accept your offer."

There was not much for Fudge but to say, rather stiffly:

"Well, I can only wish you luck, Dumbledore. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have important work to do."

And he took up the stack of papers again and started leafing through it, pretending to be engrossed in pewter alloys.

"Thank you, Minister," Dumbledore replied in his most pleasant voice. He rose and vanished his chair with a careless wave of his wand; then he went over to the door and opened it.

"After you, Dolores," he said bowing to her slightly. "I am sure your talents could be put to much better use with the Ministry, so let's hope you won't have to sacrifice it for a dull teaching job. Young people can be quite tiring these days. Have a very nice day!"

Umbridge, glaring at him with ill-concealed fury, swept past him without a word.

"A good day to you, too, Minister," Dumbledore said cheerfully to Fudge, who did not glance up from his papers. "You should not work so hard, it isn't really good for your health… and now I really have to hurry. There's a rather urgent letter I have to write…"

A/N: So, what are your bets? Who's going to be the new DADA teacher? Keep your fingers crossed for me that I can update he next piece sooner!AND DON'T FORGET TO KEEP THOSE REVIEWS COMING!


	11. Chapter 11 Eager to Learn

A/N: So here is the next chapter. Again, nothing really HAPPENS, but I hope you'll enjoy the scenes nevertheless. Thanks for all the reviews – You'll still not learn about the DADA teacher, and I must say I quite a good laugh at some of your suggestions. Let me say this much: Students cannot be teachers, can they?

Enjoy and keep those reviews coming!

Chapter 11 Eager to learn

Harry would never have expected he would come to miss Privet Drive some day, but this was exactly what he found himself thinking after being cooped up in the old house for – he couldn't even have said how long, he had lost count of the days that had passed since his arrival. One day passed much as any other, he was never allowed outside and if it had not been for Mrs Weasley's indefatigable cleaning spirits, he would probably have died of boredom long ago. It was true, of course, that he was glad to have his two best friends with him, but even with your two best friends there are only so many things you can talk about over an interminable day.

"You must be extremely careful, Harry," Arthur Weasley had impressed on him more than once, "not to use any magic whatsoever. This house may be protected by very clever hiding charms, but we have no way of knowing if the Ministry wouldn't still detect the use of underage magic nevertheless. You-Know-Who is sure to have his spies there and would know at once, and protected though it may be, this place would not stand a chance against a massive Death Eater attack."

Sirius, who had been forced to remain in hiding in the house for more than a year now, knew how Harry felt, and he came up with an idea.

"Who says you have to use magic?" He said to Harry one morning, and his boyish grin made his gaunt face appear years younger. "Why not practise defence the Muggle way? You never know when it may come in handy. It might even give you an advantage over a wizard who expects you to use magic…"

He led the three friends down a flight of stairs into a huge vault in the sub-basement, below the kitchen. The damp walls were of rough hewn rock, clearly centuries older than the rest of the house, adorned with rusty iron rings and chains. It was not a cosy place.

"I don't even want to know what they used this place for in the olden days," Sirius said, "But it will come in handy for our purposes."

He conjured a couple of fencing foils with a flick of his wand and tossed each of them one. "Good thing I CAN use magic, eh? Yes, this is how you fight without magic. And it can be just as deadly, believe me."

"Wow, this is cool," Ron said, his eyes shining. "So this is how Muggles fight?"

"USED to fight, Ron," Hermione remarked, somewhat condescendingly. "A couple of hundreds of years ago… Sorry, Sirius," she added, seeing his disappointed look. "It's a beautiful sport, and trains your reflexes and everything, but it's not exactly the most effective way of killing among Muggles nowadays. But I guess there is no harm in learning it, it will occupy all of us until term starts, and that's something."

She had been fiddling idly with her rapier during this speech, and so it came as a complete surprise when she suddenly jumped into fencing position and aimed it at Sirius' chest.

"_En garde!"_ she shouted, and laughed happily at his perplexed face.

"Wow," Ron said again, gaping at her open mouthed, and Harry added, "You never cease to amaze me, Hermione!"

"Where – where did you learn that?" Sirius gasped, after recovering from the shock.

"My parents wanted me to take up some sport when I was smaller, I suspect they dreamed of me as a ballet dancer. Well this is the closest to dancing I ever got. And you must admit it's quite an elegant set of movements."

And she gave them a skilled and graceful demonstration of attack, foil and reposte.

"I can do that too," stated Ron proudly. He grabbed his foil in his fist and swung it in what he imagined to be an elegant sweeping motion, and it was only with a desperate leap backwards that Hermione escaped the sharp point.

"Careful!" She yelled. "These are SHARP weapons, not toys!"

"Oh, I quite forgot," said Sirius, quite embarrassed. And he quickly cast a spell on the rapiers to make their points blunt.

Ron, whose face gave an interesting spectacle of changing between flaming red and deadly white, was only able to utter indistinct sounds.

"This isn't any use, Sirius," Hermione said in her best authoritarian manner. "He doesn't even know how to HOLD this thing, and looking at the two of you, I'm not sure you do. We need someone to demonstrate and teach us."

"Well, couldn't you…" Harry began.

"No I couldn't. I've just been learning the absolute basics, what we need is a real expert. There isn't at least a library – o stop grinning Ron! – I mean you don't at least have some books on fencing in this house, have you?"

"No," replied Sirius, "But there's something much better we can do…"

He frowned in concentration, then moved his wand and muttered an indistinct spell of which they could just understand Accio.

There was a swish in the air and a large painting in a heavy gilded frame materialised on the wall.

"One of the best swordmasters of his time and age," Sirius said proudly. "Meet my ancestor Sieur Porthos de Noir. As you can see, he is just in the process of fighting Cardinal Richelieu's men…"

And indeed, the picture showed a tall, handsome man in the blue musketeer's cloak defending himself against three burly thug-like enemies in red.

"_Bon jour, _Porthos," Sirius addressed the musketeer.

"Ah, cousin," the man in the picture replied pleasantly. And then he added to his attackers, "_Excusez-moi, mes amis,_ I have to attend to family business. We shall continue later."

And indeed, the three men in red nodded, sheathed their swords and sat down below a tree in the background of the picture, where they started a game of cards.

"Tedious business this," Porthos said calmly. "It's a pleasure talking to you again, Sirius, but won't you introduce me to your young friends?"

After suitable introductions, during which Sieur Porthos expressed his sincere regrets at not being able to step out of his picture and kiss Hermione's hand properly (which caused Hermione to blush a deep shade of red), the ancient musketeer continued.

"Now, how can I be of service?"

"We were just wondering," Sirius told him, "If you could teach us all in the noble art of fencing."

"Seeing as you are – were – the greatest expert of your time," Ron, who had found his speech fastest, added.

"Well, I do believe I'm not all that bad," Porthos said with a grin, trying in vain to look modest. "Not as if I'd ever need all my skills against those miserable amateurs-"he indicated the three men in the background, "but still I think you can learn a thing or two if you watch us closely."

He gave a shrill whistle and waved to the others, who, somewhat reluctantly, stopped their card game and slowly moved forward.

"_Messieurs,_" he said, bowing to them in an exaggerated mocking way. "Before we commence our pastime, let me introduce you to my noble cousin, - if cousin be the right word for one who was born four hundred years after our time, - the most honourable Sirius Black, and his young friends. Cousin, these three worthy gentlemen have had the pleasure of fighting me ever since this painting was done in 1534. I must confess we have become rather attached to each other during all these centuries. Now, _mes amis,_ my cousin Sirius desires to learn more about the noble art of fencing…"

The next minutes were a fascinating show of the basic tricks of swordfighting, and they all, - perhaps except for Hermione, who was at least familiar with some of the techniques, - had quite a hard time trying to remember even the simplest movements. Ron, for example, even found it quite difficult to understand that the fencing foil was not gripped in the fist, but delicately balanced between thumb and index finger, while Sirius, with his straightforward energy, was criticised severely for not being flexible enough. Only Hermione found acceptance in the strict eyes of their teacher.

"Mademoiselle is extremely gifted in the art," Sieur Porthos said politely, causing Hermione to blush profusely again, "indeed, if I were not just a memory on canvas…"

He left the sentence unfinished, and Ron looked somewhat annoyed at the dreamy expression on Hermione's face.

During the following weeks, under the critical eye of Sieur Porthos, they practised regularly for two hours in the morning and in the afternoon, and even if, with the exception of Hermione, none of them could ever satisfy the ancient musketeer's standards, they learned to use the fencing foil more or less satisfactorily.

"You would not last a minute against a real expert, of course," Porthos told them one evening, after they had finished their training and stood, panting and sweating, in front of the painting, "But as I hear, the noble art of fencing has fallen into some deplorable disregard during the last couple of centuries. So you'll perhaps stand a fair chance, and if you run into someone not familiar with the technique, even more than that… Mademoiselle, however,-" here he bowed to Hermione with a graceful wave of his feathered hat, - "let me just once more express my deepest regret that I am unable to leave this painting; I doubt that there is anything I can still teach you this way. But I advise you to find a teacher in the real world to help you reach the perfection that your talent deserves…"

"_Merci,_" Hermione whispered meekly, blushing once again.

_Dear Mademoiselle Delacour,_

_We are glad to inform you that your application for a transfer to Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft has been accepted by the school board. You will be attending regular lessons and will take the final NEWT examination in the end of the school year. As the Beauxbatons institute has confirmed, your test results at the Hogwarts NEWTs will be fully acknowledged by them._

_According to the current state of your school career, you have been assigned to the following NEWT classes:_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts_

_Transfiguration_

_Charms_

_Potions_

_Herbology_

_Ancient Runes_

_Please note that all these courses are in their second year, so there is a possibility that subject matter is required that you are not familiar with, due to differences in the respective curricula. Should such be the case, inform your head of house immediately. You will understand that no exceptions or allowances can be made in this respect, and it will be entirely your responsibility to deal with such a situation._

_You are requested to arrive at Hogwarts on September first, no later than six o'clock, to be sorted in your house, together with the first year students. We regret if this causes you any inconvenience, but school regulations require this sorting._

_Enlosed, find a list of the books required._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress_

"Now, are you still afraid it's a dream?" Vivienne asked her granddaughter, after reading the letter that had just arrived.

"Let's say I'm just starting to believe it," said Fleur. "Oh I can't wait! How long is it?"

"You've been asking this three times every day the past weeks," her grandmother smiled. "As of today, it's ten days, eight hours and thirty-five minutes."

"Stop making fun of me!"

"Well, it's hard to resist, you know. But, to help you pass the time, why don't I try and teach you a few more things?"

"What things?"

"To make the best of your Veela roots, of course. You can already assume your bird persona, which is a really great step, so it would be interesting to see if you can unearth some other Veela skills and put them to use."

"You don't mean that awful Veela charm that caused me so much trouble for five years? Now that I'm so happy it's finally gone?"

"Yes, I do, indeed – Don't pull such a face, _cherie,_ I know how you feel about it. But this will be completely different, you know. Formerly, you had no influence on it at all, and this is what caused all the trouble, but now things would be very different: You would have full control over it, and could switch it on and off, as well as aim it, as you like, just like a full Veela can."

"I'm not sure, grandma, it sounds so much like cheating, toying with people's feelings… I hate the idea."

"I understand you well, and it does you credit, too. But then, it would be entirely up to you whether to use your ability or not. And it would be a terrible waste not to develop a power that can be so useful. After all, _Vous-savez-quis_ is back, you saw it yourself…"

Fleur sighed deeply.

"You are right as always. So I guess you'd better start your teaching right away. Also," she added, grinning weekly, "perhaps it won't work, anyway…"

"That's my girl," Vivienne said approvingly. "But I wouldn't put my hope into this chance, you see."

_Dear Minister,_

_This is just to inform you that I have been successful in finding a highly competent teacher for the vacant position. The services of your esteemed assistant Dolores Umbridge consequently will not be required._

_I am certain that you will be satisfied with this development, as her valuable work at the Ministry naturally is more important than a simple teaching job. I entreat you to give my regards to her._

_I trust this finds you in good health,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Very red in the face, Cornelius Fudge tossed the letter down on his desk, thus disturbing the beautiful symmetry of papers on it.

"The impudence!" he grumbled. "Who does he think he is?"

"And he does not even say who that new teacher is," Dolores Umbridge, her toadlike face contorted to a grimace even uglier than usual, added. "Probably another werewolf, or something."

"Why not a giant or a vampire, while he's at it? He's always had a foible for such creatures…

No, Dolores, I can't accept the man's actions. You will have to go to Hogwarts to see what's going on…"

"But in what function, Minister?" The simpering tone in her voice only partly hid her eagerness.

"I – well, erm… you'll be the Ministry's High Inquisitor for Educational Affairs."

"It sounds lovely, Minister, but – what's that?"

"Erm- wait a minute… yes, it's something we still have to create. Don't worry, I'll pass some decree or other… my secretary, Screwtape, is quite skilled at this sort of thing. These goblins usually are. Trust them to compose legal documents that nobody except themselves can understand."

"But, Minister, if nobody can understand it, then-"

"No problem, Dolores, naturally, as Screwtape will be the only one to understand the decree, it will also be his job to interpret it…"

Her bright grin almost split her face in two.

"Ah, NOW I see… If I may say so, Minister, you are a genius!"

"Oh, don't, Dolores, you're embarrassing me!" Fudge said with a particularly nasty smirk.

"Everything is working according to plan, I am very satisfied with your achievements, Wormtail. The old fool has no idea that he is playing into our hands. Yes, a very convincing performance, even if that idiot almost messed it up when the dementor escaped his control. But he has been punished…"

"Yes, my Lord," the little man with the silver hand said. "I saw to it personally."

"Ah, don't make it sound like that, I know you enjoy this sort of thing, my friend, even though your inclination tends to carry you away sometimes… Yes, it is all running smoothly; even the Minister, the blessed moron, works for us, even though he has no idea of it… I guarantee, Wormtail, you will have plenty of opportunities to amuse yourself… And who am I to stand in your way, my one most trusted servant?"

"Than you, my Lord, you are too generous."

"As long, naturally, as you do not lose sight of the greater goal, that is," Voldemort added with a mirthless grin, in a voice that sent shivers down Wormtail's spine.

A/N: A tiny bit shorter than usual, but I promise to make up for it in the next chapter, which will take them all to Hogwarts, at last!

Question to the attentive reader: Where does Screwtape come from?


	12. Chapter 12 Going to Hogwarts

A/N: Finally, they arrive at Hogwarts. Another chapter without much action, but necessary for the course of the story. Thank you all for the reviews.

**Everpresent **– Sorry if my idea of AU annoys you. But I'm NOT going to weave in the events of book 5, I'm just using the characters. You don't know what I have got in store for dear Dolores, do you?

**Desert Fox –** Thanks for the history lesson, I was just too lazy to look up the exact dates. Of course, Porthos is from Dumas' famous novel.

**Roman Legion – **Sounds like a good idea. Will you give me technical advice? Like Vocabulary, techniques, etc.

**Japanese Jew – **Mademoiselle is Miss, Madame is Mrs (married woman).

**Jollander **– I must have made a mistake, I didn't intend him to be REALLY nice to him.

Yes, Screwtape is from CSL's own special hell, I just borrowed him, he seems to be exactly the type that would work in a ministry. Sorry if the spacing between places of action does not work. I always put + in between, but apparently it does not always show. Now, without further ado, here is:

**Chapter 12 Going to Hogwarts**

"And how am I supposed to get to Hogwarts with all this stuff?" Fleur asked, looking at the accumulated luggage, - a huge trunk, three large bags, a bulky cauldron, the cat basket and her broomstick. "I think I could always go in my owl form, but..."

"Not a good idea, cherie," her grandmother interrupted. "As far as we know, Harry is the only one who is aware of this power of yours, and it's always a good thing to keep the enemy in the dark about yourself as much as possible. It would be impossible to hide, and would give away a very important secret."

"As it befits a Delacour, you will travel in style," Isabeau said. "And so I have made arrangements for you to go in the family coach..."

"The family coach? But Mother- I mean, I appreciate it and everything, but just imagine... it's about the most spectacular way of arriving, it would make me the centre of attention for the entire school, and everybody would talk about me for weeks…"

"You'll be the centre of attention anyway," her grandmother remarked dryly. "And they will stare at you and gossip about you no matter what you do. Even without the uncontrolled Veela charm at work… No, it's probably not such a bad idea to fill them with a bit of respect right away."

"I have already given instructions," Isabeau put an end to the discussion, "and you are travelling tomorrow morning at ten. So you will easily be on time for the sorting ceremony."

"Ah the sorting!" Gabrielle interjected eagerly. "Which house do you think the hat will put you in?"

"I don't think it will make much of a difference," Fleur said, trying to sound indifferent. "As long as it's not Slytherin, of course."

"What's wrong with Slytherin?" her mother asked. "Several of the greatest wizards in history came from there…"

"But including Voldemort," Fleur retorted, causing the others to wince at the name. "And I don't intend to get caught up with that lot."

"I'm sure you'll get sorted into Gryffindor, anyway!" Gabrielle exclaimed. "I mean…"

"Well, I'll see about that tomorrow, and I'll send you an owl first thing in the evening, I promise. Oh, I can't wait to see all their faces!"

In due course, at ten o'clock next morning, the Delacour family coach drew up in the drive in front of the mansion. And even though Fleur knew it, of course, she couldn't help feeling impressed by the spectacle.

The coach resembled a smaller version of the Beauxbatons carriage: Huge wheels, a gilded body, complete with the family crest, - a red rose on a silver shield, - adorning the doors, and drawn by a pair of dazzlingly white flying horses with golden mane and tail that reminded Fleur of the unicorn she had encountered at Hogwarts. The luggage had already been stowed away by the house elves, and so all that remained was for Fleur to say good-bye to her family, which she did tearfully. She could not have said herself whether these were tears of joy at going to see Harry again, or of sadness at leaving all her family behind.

"Thank you, maman, thank you," she whispered as she embraced her mother, surprised how sincere her feelings toward the formerly cold and distant woman had become during the two summer months. "Oh, I'm so happy!"

Then she turned to her grandmother to hug her, too. "And thank you for teaching me," she said, "oh, I don't know what I'd have done without you…"

Vivienne stroked her hair and held her close.

"You know I'd do anything for you, cherie," she told her. "Just don't forget what I tried to make you understand…"

Gabrielle was sobbing, when Fleur turned and bent down to cup her cheeks in her hands.

"It's so unfair!" she choked. "Now you'll be away for all those months, and you'll forget about me, and-"

"That's not true, Gabie, and you know it!" Fleur told her little sister sternly, but with a heavy heart, nevertheless; she knew exactly how she must feel, and she felt a little guilty, feeling so happy to get away. "And I promise I'll owl you, and visit you as often as I can!"

"But you- you'll have so many more important things to do…" the rest was lost in indistinct sounds, as she buried her face in Fleur's chest.

At a loss for words, as she was aware that Gabrielle's words were probably true, Fleur continued patting her for a minute, but at last, Isabeau gently extricated Gabrielle from her embrace.

"Shh, cherie," she said to her. "Perhaps we can go and visit her in Scotland, what do you say?"

Gabrielle looked up at her incredulously, and smiled through her tears.

"Oh, maman, that would be lovely!"

"I'll see what we can do, cherie."

At last, Fleur broke free from her family and went over to the coach, whose door opened by itself as she approached. She climbed up the two steps and into the carriage, and the door silently closed behind her. She turned round and leaned out of the window to wave at the three people in the doorway of the mansion.

"Au revoir!"

With a jolt, but definitely softer than the Beauxbatons carriage, the flying horses started to pull, and presently the coach left the ground and climbed steeply into the clear blue sky.

In London, meanwhile, the various book lists had arrived, and much to Harry's chagrin, he had not been allowed to join the Weasleys in their expedition to Diagon Alley to get all the school things they needed.

"No, Harry," Arthur Weasley had told him gently but firmly. "I do understand how you feel about this, but it's definitely too dangerous. I'm afraid you'll have to stay home – if home you can call it. We will make sure to get everything for you."

Even Fred and George seemed to agree with their father's opinion, which Harry took as a sign of the seriousness of his situation. So there was nothing for him but to wait for them to come back.

In the evening before their departure, they were all busy packing their things together, and it took several shrinking charms to get the lot into their trunks.

"It's high time we go back to school," Harry told Ron as they were both jumping on top of their trunks in attempt to close them. "I don't think I could put up with this place much longer."

"Yeah, mate," Ron grunted in agreement, straining to close the buckle of the leather strap on his trunk, "These have been some rather boring days, to be sure. Lucky we got that old French bloke to teach us fencing; that was some fun, at least. I'd never have thought it possible, but – yes, I'm clearly looking forward to getting back to the old monkey house!"

"Just think of it – Quidditch again! That alone will make up for those boring History of Magic lessons, won't it?"

"Right you are, mate. But perhaps not for old Greasy Git, not quite, I'm afraid."

"Yeah," said Harry with a sigh, "I guess you have a point here…"

At the diner table there was a distinct air of cheerfulness, except for Sirius, who kept scowling at the others, thoroughly frustrated at not being allowed to leave the house the next day.

"No, Sirius," Dumbledore had told him in his strictest voice. "We can expect the enemy to keep a close look out for Harry, and they'll notice the slightest detail around him, at least as soon as he arrives at the platform, but most likely very soon after we leave the house. And you can be perfectly sure that seeing a large black dog around Harry will tell Voldemort a good deal. So I really must insist that you stay here."

Sirius had said nothing, but he was in a sour mood all evening.

Naturally, the one most excited about getting back to Hogwarts was Hermione. She kept chatting away about the coming subjects, telling everyone how much she had already been reading about them.

"I can't understand how Bridget Wenlock could overlook this aspect of the number seven," she would say, ignoring the boys' exasperated sighs, "it's so obvious!"

And she would look things up in her books and scribble calculations on slips of parchment, which she then would lose and start looking for frantically. In such a mood, it was best to keep away from her.

However, one thing made Harry feel uneasy.

"I do hope Fleur is all right," he used to say, more to himself than to anybody in particular. "I haven't heard from her ever since that Dementor attack. I understand about all these security schemes, but I'd really like to know how she is. And she'll go back to her school, and then there'll be no way for us to meet for Merlin knows how long…"

And all Ron could do was nod and make sympathetic noises.

Rather unexpectedly, Harry spent an almost undisturbed night (he woke only once with the feeling of something unpleasant, but he could not remember the slightest bit of his dream, and he had certainly not screamed, as Ron's continuing snoring told him), and woke in the early morning, feeling full of energy, eager to get things going, something he had not felt for weeks.

They assembled in the kitchen for a quick breakfast, and then it was time to go.

"Sirius, be careful, please!" Harry said to his godfather, hugging him awkwardly. "They are all looking for you, and I don't want anything to happen to you…"

Sirius made indistinct noises in his throat and returned his hug energetically. "Be sure to tell me whenever there is a problem, Harry; I'm always there for you, you know…"

The party that had assembled in the hall was fairly large: Besides the six Hogwarts students, there were Arthur and Molly Weasley, Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody and Tonks.

"What on earth-" said Ron, surprised, "I mean, I can understand you, mum and dad, but what about the rest.?"

"We'll be your escort," Moody said gruffly. "Can't take any risks, can we? Constant vigilance!"

"Now I understand what Dumbledore was talking about," Hermione remarked. "There's no way You-know-who could ever not notice this crowd. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"It's the only way, I'm afraid," Arthur said. And Hermione had to agree.

After putting levitation spells on their trunks, they left the house, and it was only now that Harry could see its surroundings. The area must have been quite wealthy, some hundred years or so ago, but now it was a neglected and derelict neighbourhood; many of the houses were deserted, their windows boarded up or broken. The small park in the centre of the square was barren and full of litter.

After leaving the house, Harry turned round and was surprised to see that it had vanished; there was only an empty patch of ground between two other houses.

"We've put a charm on it, of course," Tonks, who saw his surprise, told him. "Only selected people can see it and enter it."

They had no way of knowing if their party had already been detected by Voldemort; that there was no way to avoid the curious stares of muggles was very obvious, however. Not surprisingly so, too. Six teenagers lugging huge heavy looking old-fashioned trunks along the streets would be extraordinary enough in themselves, but as said teenagers were accompanied by a group of adults in what to the muggle eye seemed fancy dress, to say nothing of Moody's scarred face and Tonks' lime green waist-long hair, they attracted quite a lot of attention. And the fact that Arthur carried Hedwig in her cage did not exactly make them less conspicuous.

They had to walk for a couple of minutes until they reached the underground station. Although Arthur had been travelling in the underground before, he was still fascinated and could only barely be restrained from uttering his admiration. Of course, in the narrow spaces of the underground coaches, the attention they attracted was even greater, and finally Moody had to mutter an Obliviate charm because it simply got too much.

At last, they got off at King's Cross, and in due course ended up on platform 9 ¾ , where the Hogwarts express was already under steam. As soon as they had arrived, Fred and George disappeared in the crowds, looking for their friends, and leaving the others to look after themselves.

From the beginning, Harry could not help but notice that his fellow students seemed to be divided into two groups: There were those who were looking at him with a good deal of respect, sometimes mixed with fear, and then there were others regarding him with disdain, even contempt, sometimes snickering when they believed he would not notice.

He was just going to ask Ron about this, when Angelina Johnson approached them, grinning at them widely.

"Hi Harry," she said cheerfully. "Good to see you back. No," she added, turning suddenly serious, "I'm not going to ask you if you had a nice holiday… But it's great to have you here with us. We'll have to find us a new captain, now that Wood has left; how about you, Harry?"

"Me? No way, but – why not yourself?"

And although she made deprecating noises, it was clear that she felt highly pleased with Harry's suggestion.

They found themselves an empty compartment and settled down comfortably, while the train started on its journey north.

It did not take long until Harry was to find out why some of his schoolmates were looking at him so strangely.

"Well, well, well," came a familiar drawling voice, as the compartment door was opened. "If it's not the nutcase himself… Had any more hallucinations recently, Potty? Any more dark lords climbing out of cauldrons? I always knew you had more imagination than was good for you…"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said automatically, not even bothering to look up from the book he was reading.

"Ah, high and mighty, aren't we? You'll get smaller still… mudbloods and mudblood lovers will be first-"

Four combined curses hit him full in the face and chest, hurling him backwards into the wall, where he collapsed in a heap, while two huge elephant like ears were sprouting from his head.

"Why can't he keep his big fat mouth shut?" Ron remarked quietly. "Care for a game of chess, Harry?"

Fleur's journey was uneventful, if somewhat boring, and she passed the hours daydreaming about being back with Harry. Darkness fell slowly, and then she felt the coach slowly descending, until she could make out the many-turreted silhouette of Hogwarts.

How different this second arrival was from the first! She remembered how she had felt – lonely, a bit frightened and very unhappy. And now – was it really a year? – she was happy, happy like she did not remember being ever before. She was going back to be with the one person in the world that meant most to her, more even, she had to admit, than her beloved little sister.

Soon the coach came to a halt in front of the massive oaken gate, and Fleur got up from her seat to step out onto the gravel path leading up to them.

The timing could not have been more exact. At the very same moment that the winged horses touched the ground, the first of the horseless carriages that were bringing the students from the train station arrived. And of course everybody in them gaped and stared, without, at the moment having any idea who it was that had just made such a spectacular appearance.

In something almost like panic, Fleur hurried towards the door hat led into the castle. Noiselessly, they opened in front of her. She was at a complete loss what do to or where to go now, but, seemingly out of nowhere, Dumbledore appeared by her side.

"Bon soir, Mademoiselle Delacour," he said, smiling at her kindly. "I have been expecting you. Will you please accompany me? Your luggage will be looked after. You know you have to be sorted first? Yes? Good. The students will take their seats presently, and then we will proceed…"

He took her arm and led her into a side chamber, just as the huge doors opened again and the crowds of students streamed into the hall.

"Who do you think was in that awesome carriage?" Ron asked.

"No idea, mate," Harry told him, and even know-it-all Hermione could only shake her head.

"There was a silver crest with a red rose on the door," she mused, "but I've never come across anything like it. "Must be an important person, at any rate, it isn't many people that can afford to travel like that."

"Could it be the new DADA teacher, perhaps?" Ginny suggested.

"Cool," said Ron, if they are as impressive in their lessons as in their travelling, we're in for a treat this year…"

"But appearances can be VERY misleading," Hermione remarked critically, going red as she remembered her secret crush on the impostor Gilderoy Lockhart. "Just think of Professor Lupin…"

Finally, they had reached the long Gryffindor table and settled down. The High Table at the head of the room was already occupied by the familiar teachers. There was no new face among them, but they noted that there was one free seat.

Dumbledore's high chair was also still empty.

"No surprise, yet," Ron said, sounding disappointed. "You don't think we'll have Snape teach us DADA, too, do you? They say he's been after the job for years."

"Nobody in their right mind would be after THAT job," Hermione replied. "Not after what's been happening to them the last four years. There's an empty chair, see? That must be the one. I wonder where Dumbledore is…"

"No matter," grumbled Ron, "I hope they get it over with quickly, I'm hungry!"

This earned him a reproachful look from Hermione. But before she could say anything, a door opened, and the headmaster entered.

Silence fell as Dumbledore went over to his seat, raised his arms in greeting and sat down. Now McGonagall entered from the back of the room, a long line of tiny-looking first years trailing after her. She went briskly up to the dais, where the Sorting Stool had already been placed, carrying the old battered Sorting Hat, which she placed on the stool.

As usual, the hat sang its welcoming song, and as usual, hardly any of the students listened. They got a vague impression that it was about friendship and loyalty, and smoothing out differences among yourselves, in short, more or less what the old hat sang every year.

Then the Sorting started, and the small first years, most of them frightened and insecure, were sent to their respective houses. After the last one, "Zoroaster, Zephyra", a tiny Arabic looking girl, had been sorted into Gryffindor ("She doesn't look very brave, does she?" muttered Ginny.), Dumbledore rose again.

"Before we can let the fest begin, my friends, even though I am sure you have been waiting eagerly for it," – here he seemed to glance directly at Ron, - there is one more Sorting to be taken-"

There was a general murmur; nothing like this had ever happened before.

"Most unusual, I know," Dumbledore went on, after the murmur had died down. "But as you may remember me telling you not so long ago, these are unusual times… Yes, we have one more student to be sorted, whom all of you, I trust, will accept with due friendliness and hospitality. My friends-"

He waved his hand towards the door behind him, which opened slowly.

Harry could no believe his eyes.

"Fleur!" he shouted.

A/N: Of course, this is exactly the place to stop. What do you think – which house is Fleur going to be sorted into? Wait until the next chapter!


	13. Chapter 13 Settling in

Chapter 13

Several hundred eyes turned to Harry, whose face took on a colour not unlikely Ron's hair. People started to chat to each other excitedly, torn in their attention between Harry and Fleur herself, who had meanwhile entered and closed the door behind her. She was standing behind Dumbledore's chair, looking to Harry rather small and vulnerable.

Dumbledore raised his arms, and the general noise slowly died down.

"Due to facts outside our control, Hogwarts has been requested to accommodate Miss Fleur Delacour, whom I hereby welcome in our midst."

He rose politely and extended his hand to Fleur, to lead her forward towards the sorting stool. The students had recovered from their surprise and there was some applause, mixed with whistles and cat calls, most of which, as Harry noted with mounting anger, originated from the Slytherin table.

Again, Dumbledore raised his arms, and again the noise calmed down.

"Miss Delacour will be attending seventh year classes with us, and will take her NEWTS in June. An arduous task, to be sure, and I expect each and every member of the student body to do their best to assist her in it. As you are aware, of course, she has to be Sorted first."

Fleur, looking very pale, sat down on the stool, and McGonagall put the sorting hat on her head. She closed her eyes tightly, concentrating on the small voice that appeared in her head.

"Well, well, well, what have we here? I must say – I haven't had anyone like you for ages and ages… But I remember well enough… very much like you she was… very strong magic… half Veela, though, more unbalanced… Now where do I put you? Ah, I see… no, definitely not Slytherin, not selfish enough, and not unscrupulous, Gryffindor? ("Yes, please!" thought Fleur.) No, I'm afraid not, there's too much logical thinking in that mind of yours… not ready to jump into danger at the slightest impulse, like some others I could name… No, you'll make an excellent – RAVENCLAW!"

When the hat shouted the last word, the Ravenclaw table erupted in cheers, while most male students at the other tables looked disappointed. McGonagall took off the hat, and Fleur rose and walked hesitatingly over to the table of her new house. She didn't have to search long, as Cho had already jumped up and was running towards her.

"Fleur!" she exclaimed excitedly and threw her arms around the blond girl. "How- what-?"

"I'll tell you everything," Fleur assured her, and together the two girls went to find seats.

In the meantime, Dumbledore had sat down again and clapped his hands, causing the plates, dishes and goblets appear on the tables.

"Let the feast begin!" he shouted happily, and even though the students were still chatting excitedly, they readily attacked their meal.

"So it must have been her, arriving in that awesome coach! What on earth is she doing here?" Harry said to Ron.

"Search me," was the indistinct reply, and Hermione looked equally at a loss.

"How on earth do you come to be here?" Cho inquired from Fleur, quite ignoring the food on the table. Fleur was shocked how the formerly lively and healthy looking girl had changed during the last two months: Her face was gaunt, there were dark rings around her eyes, which themselves had a tired expression; her entire behaviour was one of quiet despair.

Refraining from the obviously pointless question about her well-being, Fleur told her as concisely as possible about the events in Paris, the Dementor, and her mother's decision to send her to Hogwarts.

"And so here I am," she finished simply.

"Oh, how wonderful!" Cho said with a smile that at the same time was welcoming and sad. "It's really good to have you here, and I mean it! You are the only one I can talk to about-"

She stopped.

"Him," Fleur said quietly, putting a consoling arm round her friend's shoulder. "There has been no change, I expect?"

Cho just shook her head, tears glittering dangerously in her eyes.

Now Fleur began to look round the table at the other students, her new house mates. She vaguely remembered several of the faces, but without being able to put names on them. Except, of course, for Roger Davis. He was looking at her, his eyes wide, something like an almost hungry expression in his face. When he noticed her looking at him, he quickly averted his gaze.

Fleur felt the colour rise in her cheeks; Cho, who had noticed the incident, put her hand on her arm.

"Quiet, Fleur," she said in a low voice. "If anybody must feel embarrassed about this, you know exactly who it is. Just ignore him."

"I'll try. But it isn't easy, you know."

After the initial surprise, several of the other Ravenclaws started asking Fleur questions, and for the next half hour or so she was kept busy explaining why she had come. Only when the curiosity of those sitting next to her had more or less been satisfied, she found the opportunity to look over to the Gryffindor table.

Over there, the air was just as full of excited talk as at the other tables, although most students shared Ron's basic conviction that good food was always of supreme importance. Harry, on the other hand, barely touched anything and kept staring ahead at nothing in particular. He was sure that Fleur's unexpected appearance had something to do with the Dementor's attack, and that, in turn, must be linked to Voldemort's return.

When the feast was drawing to its end, Fleur could not keep herself back any more. In swift strides, she went over to the Gryffindor table, where she sat down between Harry and Ron, who, still concentrating on his food, was taken by surprise and almost choked, reminding her of their very first encounter last year.

She felt the strong urge to wrap her arms round Harry and kiss him, but summoning all her will power she restrained herself. It would not be a good idea to present all Hogwarts with a show like that. So she just took his hand and intertwined her fingers with his.

"Harry," she said softly. "Oh how I've been missing you!"

Harry, still completely speechless, returned the pressure of her fingers.

"Yeah," he finally managed to say awkwardly.

Suddenly, he felt her going terse, and presently she let go of his hand, rose from her seat and then stood on the bench. All eyes in the huge hall, the teachers' included, were on her, and once again Harry was struck with her admirable poise and beauty.

She took her wand from her robes (she was still wearing the pale blue Beauxbatons colour) and directed it towards her throat, saying the Amplifying spell, Sonorus.

"_Bon soir_," she said, her beautiful melodious voice ringing into every corner. "Allow me to say these few words to you in order to explain why I am here. I believe it's better than to have to explain it over and over again; also, this way there will be no need for any rumours to start. So this is how it happened: You all remember what happened at the end of last year, remember how Lord Voldemort came back-"

A wave of shudders rippled through the crowd at the fearful name, and many eyes wandered from Fleur to Harry and back again.

"Yes, he came back indeed," Fleur went on, ignoring the reaction she had caused. "I know that there are some who prefer not to believe it, here in England, as well as in my own country. Well, I only wish they will not have to learn the truth the hard way. Be that as it may, during the summer break, I was attacked by a Dementor-"

Again an incredulous murmur ran through her audience, and again she continued, unperturbed:

"A Dementor in the middle of muggle Paris. And my mother decided I was not safe any more, and arranged for me to go to Hogwarts, which she considers one of the safest places in Europe. And Headmaster Dumbledore kindly consented to having me here. And so I am here now."

After her speech she lifted the Sonorus charm and sat down again, amidst a renewed wave of heated discussion among the students.

"That was very brave of you," Hermione told her.

"Yes, how come you're not in Gryffindor?" Harry, who had found his speech, said.

"No idea," Fleur said vaguely, and she squeezed his hand again.

In the meantime, Dumbledore had risen from his chair again to hold his traditional start-of-the-year speech. The beginning, as usual, was about the Forbidden Forest being forbidden, and about the list of forbidden things that was on display in Filch's office; quite an anticlimax to the sensational appearance of Fleur. Most people went into a limbo state between sleep and wakefulness.

Dumbledore was used to this, naturally. Therefore, when he had finished this part of his speech, he sent a shower of sparks over his audience, accompanied by a loud sound of thunder that woke everybody up again.

"As I told you at the end-of-term feast," he said, his voice booming, "we must expect difficult times, and as the Sorting Hat stressed in its admirable new song, that would have deserved to be listened to much better than it was, the one important thing for us if we wish to survive will be to stick together, to develop a loyalty that has not been seen in Hogwarts for decades, if not centuries. Therefore, my friends, let me entreat you once again to ignore petty rivalries and cooperate for the greater good. There may be no good left if you don't. I wish all of you a successful school year!"

With these words, the headmaster turned on his heels and left the banquet hall, the other teachers filing out after him.

"I am afraid I'll have to leave, Harry," Fleur whispered, getting up from the bench. "I will have to find my ways in my new house. I'll see you tomorrow, will I?"

Harry, letting go of her hand reluctantly, could only nod dumbly.

Fleur went over to the Ravenclaw table, where Cho was already waiting for her.

"Let me show you to our tower," she said, taking Fleurs hand. "You've never been there before, have you?"

So they walked towards the Ravenclaw tower together with the others, who were looking at Fleur stealthily but never actually said anything. Finally, they arrived at a larger-than-life portrait of Rowena Ravenclaw, a tall, black-haired witch in flowing blue robes, with a stern expression, not unlike Professor McGonagall's.

"Remember the password," Cho told Fleur, as she approached the painting. "Cogito ergo sum."

The painting swung aside and the two girls stepped into a short narrow corridor that presently led into the Ravenclaw common Room, a fairly large circular room with a row of windows around half of its perimeter. He predominating colours were blue and bronze, the Ravenclaw house colours. A number of desks and chairs were scattered over the room, and a group of comfortable, if slightly moth-eaten, easy chairs was arranged around the fireplace.

"Welcome to Ravenclaw house," Cho said, sounding formal, "I hope you will have a lovely time."

"I'm sure I will," Fleur said, in an equally formal voice, as she felt quite insecure and uneasy.

"Your dormitory will be with the seventh year girls," Cho went on. "Unfortunately, I'm only sixth, so I will have to say good night to you here. Just walk up the stairs to the seventh floor. No," she added as she saw her friend's face, "of course you'll not have to walk up seven flights of stairs; there is some spell that makes the first landing you reach the one you are supposed to be at. So you won't have to climb up for hours, past all six years…"

"Thank you," Fleur said gratefully. "So – I'll see you at breakfast, I expect."

And with that, she started up the spiral staircase, and after one full turn around she found the sign _seventh year._ Rather timidly, she opened the door.

Besides the door through which she had entered, the circular room had four high arched windows; between these there were five four-poster beds with blue hangings, and a narrow chest of drawers next to each. In the middle of the room, there was a small table and five chairs.

The other occupants of the dormitory were already present; apparently they had been waiting for her, and when she entered, a silence fell and all four girls turned to look at her.

"Hello, I'm Fleur," Fleur said quite unnecessarily, inwardly cursing her insecurity. "So it seems you will have to put up with me this year…"

"Welcome, Fleur," a tall girl with black curly hair said, advancing towards her, her hand extended. "I'm Calliope Clearwater, call me Cal."

Gratefully, Fleur accepted the proffered hand.

"I can imagine it must be difficult for you," Cal went on. "Especially getting into such an established community. You'll feel like an outsider, right? Well, I daresay you'll settle in soon enough. Let me introduce the others to you…"

Belladonna Blueberry ("Call me Bella, please!") was a shy girl with mousy hair and grey eyes in a freckled face, who seemed to find it difficult to talk to others. (Fleur scolded herself for thinking how absolutely unsuitable the name was for a plain girl like her.)

Then there was Aurora Entwistle, average in every respect, but with a charming smile, whose red hair was in two long braids.

And finally, there was Lyra, Lyra Parry. There was something about this slim petite girl with the raven-black close cropped hair that impressed Fleur at first glance, although she could not put her finger to it. Lyra was amiable enough, but Fleur had the clear feeling that there was an extremely strong personality behind that agreeable façade.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Wow, I didn't think I'd get this chapter done before Saturday, but I've managed! Sorry if nothing exciting happens, but first school days are rarely sensational. Actually, I'm a bit disappointed hat nobody commented on the names of Fleur's room mates; it took me a long time to find them, too.

Chapter 14 First Impressions

When she woke at dawn, it took Fleur a minute or two to remember where she was. The grey light of early morning was seeping in though her bed hangings. Guiltily she remembered her promise to send Gabrielle an owl about her arrival and the sorting.

"And I completely forgot about it!" she reproached herself.

Judging from the light she believed it must be around six o'clock, way too early for the others to get up. As she remembered, classes started at nine, so everyone would probably start getting up no earlier than half past seven.

Careful not to make any noise, she pulled back the hangings; her roommates were still fast asleep, also Orest, Lyra's parrot, was sitting motionless on his perch above her bed. And indeed, the large clock above the door showed five past six.

Deciding she would most likely not be able to go to sleep again, Fleur thought she could just as well get up. So she got out of bed and picked up her toilet bag and the Hogwarts school uniform that the house elves had set out for her on her trunk at the foot of her bed.

At the same moment, a smaller door appeared next to the large entrance door with the clock above it.

"So this seems to work the same way as in Beauxbatons," she said to herself, satisfied. And when she opened the door, she found herself in a small bathroom, just as she had expected.

After a quick shower, she stood in front of the mirror that said a rather sleepy sounding "Good morning" to her.

The unfamiliar plaited skirt was somewhat irritating and rather ugly, and she found herself thinking fondly of the elegant Beauxbatons uniform. But what was downright annoying as it was so difficult to handle was the bronze and blue tie, - in Beauxbatons they had used silken scarves, - and it was only with some helpful advice from the mirror ("The other end, dear, not the thin one!") that she finally managed.

After she had done her hair, she felt finally ready to face her first school day.

"You look gorgeous, dear," the mirror, which seemed to have woken up by now, told her, "have a very nice day!"

"Merci," Fleur replied, not quite sure if it made sense, but wanting to be polite, nevertheless.

Back in the dormitory, she threw the wide robes around her shoulders, grabbed her book bag and quietly left the dormitory to walk down to the common room, intent on writing the letter she had promised her sister.

Finding the room deserted as she had expected at this time of day, she settled down comfortably at one of the tables and got her writing utensils out of her bag.

"So you were the owl in the crystal ball," a soft voice said behind her, in a matter-of-fact way that did not at all fit the curious statement.

Fleur jumped and turned round.

She did not recognize the big-eyed girl with the straggly dirty-blond mane immediately, but then she remembered.

"Luna! What -?"

"When I was practising Divination during the holidays," Luna told her, "I saw a white owl perched on top of Ravenclaw Tower in my crystal ball, - the one that belonged to my mum, you know, - and I wondered what it meant… But it's obvious, isn't it? So you have learned how to do it."

It was not a question, and Fleur did not bother asking WHAT it was she was supposed to have learned.

"Yes," she admitted.

"You-know-who won't like it," Luna continued quietly. "You better be careful."

She stopped, looking at Fleur's quill and parchment as if she only just had discovered them.

"I can show you up to the owlery, if you want," she told her, as if this sudden chance of subject was the most natural thing in the world. "When you are finished, that is."

"Thank you," Fleur said, looking less than intelligent. "There are just a few more lines…"

After another ten minutes or so, during which Luna was staring absent-mindedly at nothing in particular, fiddling with her necklace of bottle-caps, Fleur had completed her letter and stood up from her chair.

"Fine," Luna said at once, snapping out of her trance-like stance. "Let's go."

Their trip to the owlery was uneventful, and afterwards they decided to go down for breakfast right away, which was why they were among the very first students in the great hall. One of these was Cho.

Again, Fleur was horrified to see the desperate hopelessness in her friend's face, but apart from giving her a warm hug, there was nothing she could think of saying or doing.

"I tend to sleep rather badly these days," Cho said with a weak smile. "But I'm glad to be back again; at least I know he is under the same roof with me… Dumbledore says I'll be allowed to see him this evening… but he warns me there won't-"

She broke off unhappily.

Slowly, the hall started to fill with students. Fleur's room mates said good morning to her in a friendly way, and sat down opposite her and Cho, looking surprised at seeing Luna. With some surprise, Fleur noticed that Lyra had her parrot sitting on her shoulder, but as nobody seemed to find this in any way remarkable she did not mention it.

When Harry entered, he went over to Fleur immediately.

"Hi," he said, smiling and putting a hand on her shoulder. "How was your first night as a real Hogwarts student?"

"Great," she replied, giving his hand a squeeze. "Will I see you after breakfast?"

"You bet!"

If Fleur's room mates were astonished at Harry's appearance, they did not show it. Presently the dishes materialised on the tables and he returned to the Gryffindor table.

Naturally, the breakfast was an English Breakfast, with capital letters, as Fleur thought: the full range of bacon and eggs, baked beans, grilled tomatoes, and the particularly loathsome sausages that, in Fleur's opinion tasted like sawdust, - not that she had ever tasted sawdust, of course. She noticed with a slight shudder how greedily most of the students attacked these unwholesome products.

"You don't seem too happy with our house elves' endeavours," Aurora, who was heartily stuffing herself with crispy slices of bacon, said when she watched Fleur nibbling a piece of toast and helping herself to a bowl of yoghurt and cereals. "How will you survive the day if you don't eat properly?"

"I'm sorry," Fleur replied, "I'm just not used to this kind of food, especially not in the morning; just the thought of it…"

After breakfast, the heads of house went round handing out the timetables. It was the first time Fleur saw Professor Flitwick up close, and she was surprised how VERY short he was.

"Ah, Miss Delacour," he said when he reached Fleur. "Welcome to Ravenclaw House, I do hope you will like it here. As your, albeit only temporary, head of house, I assure you that you can always turn to me should you be in need of any assistance whatsoever."

And he handed her the parchment with her lesson schedule.

"Let's see," Cal said, leaning over towards her. "Charms to begin with, that's a nice start, Shall I show you the classroom?"

"Yes, please, but-" she blushed, "I'll have to-"

"Meet up with Harry Potter," Cal finished with a big smile. "I'll wait for you."

In the commotion at the doors, however, with all the students seeing to leave at the same time, it was not so easy to find Harry, and when she did at last, they were stuck in the flow of students moving towards their classrooms; so there was just the opportunity for a quick kiss on his cheek, and a short touch of hands, before they were swept apart.

When the crowds started to disperse, Fleur caught sight of Calliope and Lyra, who apparently had only just now came up to the doors from the Ravenclaw table.

"You'll learn about this soon," Cal said, grinning at her. "Everybody is always trying to get out at the same time; it's the best thing to wait until all the hubbub has slowed down before you even get up from the table. Now let's go to our class."

"What about the others?"

"The three of us are the only ones in NEWT Charms," Lyra told her. "Bella and Aurora have only got four NEWT classes, and Charms isn't one of them. How many are you taking?"

"Six."

"Us, too. Seems we are the brainy ones," Cal said with a chuckle. "But now let's go along, it doesn't look good if we are late for the very first lesson of the school year."

They soon found the classroom, and sat down next to each other. Fleur looked around and noticed to her dismay that Roger Davis was among the other students. Their eyes met for a brief instant, but they both looked away at once, and Fleur put all her will power into keeping from blushing. There were twelve students in all, five Ravenclaws (Fleur and her two room mates, Roger and another boy she did not know), three Gryffindors and Slytherins each, and one Hufflepuff girl.

Only a minute or two after they had taken their seats, Professor Flitwick entered, and walked up to his desk, behind which, as Fleur noticed, there was a kind of platform, so that the tiny professor could look at the class from behind the desk.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen," the professor began cheerfully. I am indeed glad there seem to have been no accidents and other untoward events during your holidays and to see you all back in good health… Let me especially welcome you in this class, Miss Delacour; I trust you will find these lessons not only informative but also enjoyable. Should you encounter any difficulties concerning the tasks and topics of this class, please be sure to let me know so we can look for remedies. I am convinced the other members of this course will be prepared to assist you wherever they can."

"Look at those Slytherins," Fleur whispered to Cal. "Am I being paranoid, or are they really grinning and looking at me in that lewd way?"

"Ah, they are Slytherins, what do you expect?"

"Let us start this final year of our course revising the basics about the wide and varied field of Charms," the professor continued, apparently unaware of the Slytherins' behaviour.

"Now, when we talk about charms, what are we actually talking about?"

The Hufflepuff girl's arm shot up.

"Yes, Miss Reed?"

"Charms in the widest sense of the word," the girl rattled off eagerly, obviously reciting some memorised sentence, "are all manipulations of the physical or psychical world by the use of magic."

"That's right," Flitwick said, "and we won't go into the definition of magic here, much as I am convinced we could have a fascinating discussion about it… So, basically, perhaps with the exception of potions, all skills you can learn here in this noble school are charms. For the purposes of this course, however, we use the more specific meaning of the term, which is- yes, Mr. Davis?"

"Causing objects to behave in a way they would not normally, if left in their normal state," Roger Davis said.

_I really am getting paranoid, he CAN'T be looking at me now._

"Correct, Mr. Davis. And that does not only apply to things, it also includes people… Now, from this, it follows that the term _charms_ is a euphemism, too positive. Why is that?"

"Obviously because you can use charms for good or evil purposes," Lyra said in what sounded a rather bored voice, without even waiting for the professor to call her. "It's like any tool; a knife, for example, is harmless enough if you use it to cut bread, but we all know what other things you can do with knives… and it's the same with charms, of course."

If Flitwick did not approve of Lyra's behaviour, he did not show it, but went on.

"Excellent; and therefore I cannot repeat it often enough: You have to be very careful with charms, and need to think about all the consequences and side effects. Now, as you all know, the two areas of charms are-"

"The physical world and the human mind," came from a Gryffindor girl.

"Right, Miss Bell. Now, we have covered charms dealing with the physical world practically since your very first year at Hogwarts, - remember _Wingardium Leviosa_? – as they are by far the easier to learn, just a question of getting the wand movements and the incantation right. Many of these spells even have their counterparts in muggle technology, as you know; muggles can make things fly, too, perhaps even better than we can… The really difficult sort of charms, however, are those concerned with the human mind; and these are going to be the subject of this, your final, year."

He paused for a moment, letting this information sink in. Clearly, some of the students had not expected this.

"But, sir," the Hufflepuff girl meekly raised her hand, "isn't this… I mean…"

She stopped, embarrassed.

Professor Flitwick smiled.

"Isn't this dangerous, you mean, Miss Reed? Yes, it definitely is. It even involves one of the Unforgivable Curses… And if things had not turned out as they did at the end of last year, then perhaps I would not have put this subject matter on the curriculum of my final year NEWTs class-"

There was a commotion among some of the students, especially the Slytherins. Flitwick waited patiently for it to calm down.

"I know what you are thinking," he then told his class. "There are opinions, - and the media have contributed their fair share, - suggesting that the events were just accidents, and therefore nothing to worry about… I cannot even claim that these opinions are downright wrong – things often are different from what they seem… But there is at least a chance that the reports about You-know-who may be correct, and even if that chance was only minimal, this school is obliged to provide each and every piece of education that can help its students to prevail in such a struggle. Therefore, …"

He waved his wand at the blackboard, and writing appeared on it.

"… this is the subject matter which you are going to deal with in this year."

Fascinated, the students stared at the board.

_Theory of mental manipulation_

_The role of feelings as opposed to rational thought_

_The Subconscious_

_Manipulation of Moods_

_Manipulation of Feelings_

_Manipulation of Behaviour_

_Legilimency_

_The Imperius Curse_

There was a soft gasp when the students realised the implications of the last line.

"But, sir," said the shy Hufflepuff girl again, "do you really mean to teach us Imperius?"

"I'm quite aware, Miss Reed,

that Imperius is an Unforgivable Curse," Professor Flitwick replied, and it seemed to Fleur that there was an impatient undertone in his voice, "and you will just learn the basic theory behind it. Then, we will have a very thorough screening to determine if any of this class possesses the required stamina and moral fibre to be taught the practical side of it. And of course, there will be no practical testing of Imperius for the NEWTs exams."

An idea had been troubling her for the last few minutes, and so Fleur raised her hand slowly.

"Yes, Miss Delacour?" Flitwick said happily.

"Professor," she began hesitantly, "isn't all this very one-sided? I mean, all this seems to be – how do I say it? – _offensive_; we do not really expect to use these charms or curses, do we? WE-"

"I know exactly what you mean, Miss Delacour, and five points to Ravenclaw for bringing it up; you are inquiring about the _defensive_ aspect, and I could not agree more that it is the far more important part. And therefore we are going to cooperate very closely with the Defence Against the Dark Arts course. In fact, the subject matter will be sort of a mirror to ours. All of you are also taking DADA for their NEWTs, so there is no problem with regard to the finals, _Instead_either."

He waved his wand at the board again, and a longish paragraph entitled _theoretical principles of manipulation _appeared.

"Now, before we really begin this year's course, it will be necessary to revise the generalised basics of what you have become acquainted with during the years…"

The rest of the lesson passed with the students copying items from the blackboard and the professor asking the occasional question to make sure each of them was following and understood what was going on. To her relief, fleur found that she was perfectly familiar with all the required subject matter and could follow the course of the lesson easily enough.

Soon enough the lesson was finished, and Flitwick said,

"For a homework-"

He smiled as he saw the faces of his students and went on, correcting his wording:

"_Instead_ of a _written_ homework, I should say, will you please revise the ten charms you have learned through the past six years that you believe are most important or practical use. Be prepared to demonstrate them and also to explain why you think they are especially important. I wish you all a very successful school year."

With these words, the class was dismissed.

"What's your first impression, then?" Lyra asked Fleur, as they walked out of the classroom.

"He seems a nice enough teacher," Fleur said, "of course there isn't much I can say, but he should be easy enough to get on with."

"Wait until you meet old Snape…" Calliope remarked darkly.

A/N: Ok, I'm just going to grab HBP tomorrow morning, and then I'll be on holiday for three weeks, with no computer anywhere near – yes, there are such parts of the world. I wis you all a very great time reading!


	15. Chapter 15 New twists and turns

**A/N:** So here I am again, after great holidays in Mexico, and a rather disappointing reading of HBP. But as this is neot of much importence concerning Fleur's adventures, let's just continue with the story:

**Chapter 15**

Fleur's second class in the morning was Ancient Runes, a subject she had always liked in particular, and she found she was well ahead of her class mates (thankfully, Roger Davis was not among them). Generally, it was not a subject that seemed to be popular with the Hogwarts students, there were only five others besides herself and Aurora, who were the only Ravenclaws.

In the lunch break, Fleur, who had been wondering during most of the Runes lesson whether it would not have been wise to overcome her prejudice against English Breakfasts, went to the Great Hall, her stomach rumbling, together with Aurora. Cho was already at the Ravenclaw table; when she saw Fleur, she rose and went over to her.

"There is something I want to ask you," she began. "You'll be surprised perhaps, it being your first day and everything, but – would you want to play in the Quidditch team?"

"What?" Of all things, this was the one Fleur had least expected.

"Yes, Quidditch. Quaffle, bludgers, snitch… Quidditch."

"But-"

"You don't like competitive sports, I know; but we need at least one new player, and I know you are a very skilful flyer, with an excellent broom. And – you've been practising with Harry Potter!"

A smile flitted across her face; Fleur felt herself blush.

"Well-" said Fleur hesitantly.

"Do it for me? Please?"

"All right, I will. But I'm not going to slam bludgers all over the place…"

"Thank you, Fleur, you are a great friend. Tryouts are Friday afternoon."

"Ah, well, perhaps I'll not be good enough anyway-"

"Oh, but you will be, Fleur, you will… I've seen you…"

And with this she walked away; only now Fleur realised that as a member of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team she would have to play against Harry Potter.

After lunch, which turned out to be a far more informal affair than at Beauxbatons, everybody just wandering – or rushing, as the case might be – in and out the Great Hall to grab a bite of food, or to sit down at length, Fleur felt the need to be on her own before the next class – DADA – was starting. So she made her excuses to Aurora and the others and walked out of the castle, towards the lake and the stone bench, where she had kissed Harry for the first time.

It was in a turmoil of feelings that she went down the familiar path. Things turned out to be more complicated than she had imagined. She was not sure what she had expected herself when it had become certain she was going to spend a year at Hogwarts. Somehow the vague thought that she would be near Harry had been dominating her rational thinking, and she believed she had taken it for granted she was going to be in the same house with him, and could more or less be together with him for most of the time. As it had turned out, as she reproached herself for being too naïve, being in a different house meant that there was a rather strict set of rules and obligations that made just meeting him subject to chance more than anything. Being two years apart, there was not even a chance of being in the same classes together.

So it was not in a very cheerful mood that she finally approached the place that had somehow burned itself into her memory. And she could hardly believe her eyes when she saw someone already sitting there – not just someone, of course, but-

"Harry!" she yelled and dashed towards him, flinging her arms around him and seeking his mouth with hers eagerly.

"Fleur?" he gasped when he found enough air to breathe again. "How-"

"How I come to be here you mean? I – I just felt…"

"Me too! I couldn't really say why – I – I just wanted to get some fresh air… and somehow I landed here…"

"Oh Harry, do you- do you think this could be some link between us again? Like-"

"Like the Dementor? I still don't understand it, Merlin, I don't even really know what was going on…"

So Fleur had to tell him about her experiences in the park of Sacre Coeur, which she did, still shuddering at the recollection.

For a short time, Harry said nothing, just put his arms around her, holding her close.

"Yes, they are about the most horrible things…" he said after a while, "I know, don't I? and you really believe it was ME?"

"My grandmother said so," she said quietly, "and I admit I like the idea…"

With a weak smile, she raised her head to gaze into his deep green eyes.

"Dumbledore seems to think something similar – but he didn't say much about it. And now it may have happened again – only a lot more nicely."

"So you don't know HOW-"

"No, I've absolutely no idea. It just seems to happen. You mean, if we could control it, MAKE it happen…"

"Exactly! Oh Harry, it would be so lovely!"

"Perhaps we should try to find out more about – what did Dumbledore call it?"

"Empathy, that's what my grandmother said; yes it may be well worth researching…"

"Maybe I should set Hermione on to hat task, researching is her lifeblood; if there is anything to be found, I bet she will find it. Don't look like that," he added, seeing the shadow that crossed Fleur's face at the mentioning of Hermione's name, "I'm aware that you are still not quite at ease with her being with me most at the time, but I can tell you she is only interested in Ron…"

Indeed, for a moment the memory of the boggart in the maze during the third task of the Tournament had flitted through Fleur's mind.

"I know I'm being stupid," she said, embarrassed and blushing most prettily. "I don't mean to be jealous, it's just…"

"Don't say anything more," Harry told her softly. ""She is my best friend, just like Ron, and that's all there is to it and ever will be."

He broke off for a tender kiss, and then continued, "You, however, are so much more."

The next couple of minutes were dedicated o more kissing, but at last Harry rose reluctantly, pulling Fleur with him.

"It's time to go, I'm afraid; it would not do to be in trouble for being late in the very first potions lesson of the school year, would it? Not with Snape being the teacher, at that."

"Snape?" Fleur asked. "What's the matter with him? Everybody seems to be frightened of him."

"Just you wait," Harry said darkly, "you'll find out soon enough."

Fortunately for Fleur, who had no idea where her afternoon lesson, DADA, was taking place, and would not have found the classroom even if she had had, she ran into Lyra on the corridor, the inevitable parrot on her shoulder.

"I was just wondering where you had got to," Lyra remarked. "Didn't quite expect you to know your ways around already."

"You're right; are you also going to DADA now? Good; then I'm not lost – what a piece of luck. It's a very important subject, isn't it? Who is teaching it?"

Lyra looked at her in surprise for a moment.

"Of course, you won't know," she replied. "DADA has always had some mystery around it; in all the six years I've been at this school, not a single DADA teacher lasted longer than a year. Some people say there is a curse on the job – which I personally think is silly – but it IS true that we have had the oddest assortment of people teaching it, even a werewolf, can you imagine?"

"A werewolf? And they allowed him to teach here?"

"They didn't know until the end of the year – that is, I'm sure Dumbledore did know, but the ministry didn't – and then he had to resign, of course. But he was a nice person, and a good teacher at least. Last year we had a Death Eater in disguise, but you may already know that, you were here, weren't you? And nobody knows who it's going to be this year."

"Perhaps a vampire?" Fleur joked.

"Or a veela?" Lyra retorted, looking at her pointedly. "Well, we'll find out in a few moments, here is the classroom."

And while Fleur was still debating with herself how to react to this remark, she opened the door and walked in; so Fleur had no choice but follow her.

If Lyra had expected to find the new teacher already in the classroom, she was disappointed. The fairly large room was filled with students, however; it was the largest of the classes Fleur had been to so far. DADA was definitely one of the more important subjects.

Cal and Aurora were already there, seated a desk with two empty seats, and so Lyra and Fleur made their way towards them and sat down, too. An eager chatter filled the room, obviously everybody's curiosity about the new teacher was at boiling point, and Lyra entered into a discussion of the topic with the two other girls.

Fleur, who lacked the background knowledge (and feelings) of the Hogwarts students, and to whom each of the teachers was equally new, did not share the general excitement and found leisure to look around and take stock of the other students in the class. She noticed that '  
Ravenclaw was the house strongest represented – seven of them, including Roger ("of course!" she thought) and another boy she had not noticed before, six Gryffindors, among them Katie Bell, whom she remembered from Charms, and two other girls; then there were three Hufflepuffs. Celia Reed among them, and four Slytherins.

"Whoever it is," Aurora was just saying to nobody in particular, "they are taking their time, - lesson started ten minutes ago! I'm beginning to wonder if there is a teacher at all…"

"Rubbish," sensible Cal interrupted her. "They would have told us if the lesson had been cancelled, wouldn't they?"

"I say," put in Katie, who had sat down next to them, "Isn't it rather cold in here?"

And indeed, somehow the room temperature seemed to have gone slowly down, without them realising it. By now, most of the students were rubbing their hands to get warm, and Fleur noticed how her breath was forming small white clouds in front of her face. An uneasy feeling was creeping up on her and when she shivered, it was not just from the cold. In the others' faces, she could see fear creeping up slowly.

"At least it isn't getting dark," the thought, but even as she did, it seemed to her the lights were fading, too.

"Don't be silly," she scolded herself, "this is Hogwarts, the safest place in Europe!"

But her uneasiness grew, and in the back of her mind she, felt panic stirring…

Celia Reed was the first to crack.

"Let me out of here!" she screamed suddenly.

Her outburst was like a signal: Screams suddenly filled the classroom, and a mad dash towards the door started. With what remained of her will power, Fleur held on to the desk in front of her to stop herself from following the urge to join the stampede.

"Impedimenta!"

There wash a flash of lightning, a loud voice cut through the air, and the mad rush for the door changed into something from a slow-motion film.

Her terror suddenly gone, Fleur could muster her strength and take her surrounding in again. The first thing she noticed were her white-knuckled hands, gripping the desk as if her life depended on it. When she lifted her gaze from her hands, she saw that, besides her, only Lyra and Roger Davies had not joined the others in her panic, even cool rational Calliope was among the crowd heading for the door.

Lifting her head further, she finally found the cause of the sudden change of events: A tall woman in the black teachers' robes had appeared, seemingly out of thin air, in front of the teacher's desk. From under her high pointed hat, stone grey hair was flowing halfway down to her waist, and steel blue eyes shone in a face that seemed ageless as the sea.

"Finite Incantatem!"

With a careless wave of her wand, the woman lifted the spell; it was as if the students were waking from a dream – a nightmare, more exactly. They blinked, shook themselves like wet dogs, looked at the newcomer, bewildered, then embarrassed, and after a moment or two slowly found their seats at the desks. Everyone gaped at the apparition, nobody spoke.

"Good afternoon, class," the woman addressed them, when the last of the students had sat down.

When nobody answered, she went on, and there was an amused tone in her voice.

"This class is called Defence against the Dark Arts, you know. And I thought it might be a good idea to give you just a very subtle taste of what you could find yourselves up against when dealing with this branch of magic. I see it worked well, much too well, I must say, and I'm afraid there will be a year's very hard work in front of all of us… Just a simple panicking curse, and most of you threw all reason to the winds."

Her stern features softened, and a smile played round her lips as she added,

"In case you wonder about that flash, this was just for effect, it doesn't mean anything. But now, to business…"

She put her wand away in the sleeve of her robes, and sat down on the teacher's desk, surveying the class.

"As you probably have guessed by now, I am your Defence teacher this year. And please, don't let me hear this absurd expression DADA that students seem so fond of using. It's a much too serious affair to call it like a rather stupid branch of Muggle arts. Just say 'Defence' if you must be short. So, I am Professor Vivian Woods, and I'll be teaching you this year. Now, to begin with, I think it will be useful for you to introduce yourselves, so I can remember your names and houses…"

In due course, each student rose and gave their name, and the professor nodded and repeated it. When she reached Fleur's desk, Lyra stood up.

"Lyra Parry," she said briefly, looking the professor straight in the eyes.

"Lyra Parry, indeed?" the professor repeated, something she had not done before. Her gaze came to rest on the parrot that was still perched on Lyra's shoulder. "How interesting. And I noticed you were among the few who could resist my little experiment. Well done, Miss Parry, you seem to have more than average talents."

Quite unusual for her, Lyra blushed.

"Thank you, professor," she said quietly.

"I know who you are, Miss Delacour," the professor said, before Fleur had time to stand up and give her name, "And I am especially pleased to have you in my class. Please be so kind as to stay behind after class; I have to talk to you."

To Roger Davies she said, after he had introduced himself,

"I must commend you on your ability to resist the curse, too, Mr. Davies. You also seem to have special talents, and I hope you will use them wisely."

At last, she returned to the teacher's desk to address the class again.

"As you all know, without doubt, the field of the Dark Arts is wide and varied. Indeed, you could say that the term itself is not exact. Darkness, Magical Darkness is rather a set of the mind that a system of curses or noxious potions. Basically ALL magic can be turned into a dark art, if the caster of the spell uses it with a Dark mind. On the other hand, of course, there is a wide area of magic that has been developed with the PURPOSE of causing harm, and it is this filed that concerns us in the Defence class. Now, I expect you will have dealt with Dark creatures, how to recognise them and how to defend yourselves against them?"

An affirmative murmur ran through the class. This was second and third year stuff.

"And I am sure you dealt with protection against the physical curses, like Blasting or Reducto?"

They had done so, in years four to six.

"Good; so this final year, as those who also attend Charms will already have heard, you are dealing with protection against the most advanced and most dangerous sort of curses – those that deal with the mind. And the beginning of this lesson was already an example of what I am talking about here. Tell me, Miss Clearwater, what did you feel, and how did you react?"

Calliope rose, turning slightly pink.

"I – I'm not sure, professor. There was this weird creepy feeling, as if cold was seeping slowly into my every nerve… and then- when there was that scream, something broke; I believe I could not think clearly anymore, there was just that overpowering need to get out…

I…"

She broke off, embarrassed, and sat down heavily.

Professor Woods smiled.

"There is really no need to be ashamed of your reaction, Miss Clearwater. It is just what is to be expected under the circumstances. It needs a good deal of training, - or a strongly developed natural talent, - to resist the panicking curse, especially when taken unawares. I am sure if I put that curse on you again now, and warned you of it, too, more of you would b able to resist it. But-" she added, seeing some of the students' expressions, "there will be time enough for this sort of practice. For now, I think we can consider this lesson closed. For homework, or, rather, for preparation of next lesson, please revise what you have learned about warding of curses during your past years. Class dismissed. Miss Delacour, a word with you, if you please."

"I wonder what she wants with you," Lyra said to Fleur as they rose from their seats.

"I have no idea," Fleur replied, slightly uneasily. "I'll see you at dinner, then."

And she went over to the teacher's desk, while the rest of the students left the classroom, talking excitedly among themselves.

**Fifou: Thanks for the advice, it's always good to have experts helping you. Why don't you give me your mail address, then I can ask you when something comes up? And no, your English is definitely not poor at all! **


	16. Chapter 16

As someone has said it may be time for a disclaimer again, so here it is: I do NOT, and never have nor ever will own Harry Potter. (If did, I'd certainly have written HBP differently!)

A/N: So here the mystery of the new DADA teacher is finally lifted. Thanks for all the great reviews, and special thanks to **Maxime Labelle**, who helped me out with the piece of French conversation. Also, let me apologize for an error in the story – though perhaps I shouldn't, as nobody seems to have noticed it so far. Does anybody NOW, that I have mentioned it?

**Chapter 16 The new teacher**

The professor busied herself with some papers on her desk, obviously waiting fort the last students to leave the classroom. Only when Fleur was the only one left, she turned to her, smiling widely.

„Je suis tres heureuse de toi voir enfin, cherie. Comment va tu ?"

Fleur looked at her, completely dumbfounded.

"Ne reconnais-tu pas ta propre grand-mère ?"

"C'est impossible! Est-ce vraiment toi ?"

She could not believe it. There was so absolutely no similarity between this elderly grey-haired female and her fair gorgeous grandmother.

"Look at my eyes, cherie, you'll see it here."

And indeed, this convinced Fleur: Deep down there was the familiar spark that she knew so well. With a sound that was part laugh and part sob, she threw herself into the woman's outstretched arms.

"Oh grandma! Why – how – "

"Just sit down dear, and let me tell you briefly what you need to know. You know that your mother talked to Dumbledore about your transfer here; apparently she reminded him of me, and he wrote me a letter asking me if I would be willing to take the vacant post as Defence teacher at Hogwarts. Now I had already been wondering how I could arrange it so that I would be able to keep an eye on you… Don't look so annoyed, dear, I know how you hate what you call being controlled, - but I thought, what with the Dark Lord back and everything, and you seemingly a target, it would be a good idea… Anyway, you will understand that nothing could have been more welcome to me than that letter. So I accepted Dumbledore's offer and – well, here I am."

"But, grandma, why – I mean your – erm, appearance…?"

"Yes, I' quite proud of my disguise, it's a good one, isn't it? You mean why? But isn't it obvious. Just think about it for a minute. Imagine I'd walked into this classroom looking like I normally do; what would have happened?"

"Well, everybody would have seen you're a Veela…"

"And?"

"And then they – of course! They'd have assumed you were favouring me and …"

"Not only that; you know how many people look at non- or part-human persons, don't you? Now is it so hard to imagine all the conspiracy theories that would have cropped up? No, it would have been a very bad idea. So I brewed myself this clever potion that gives me a distinguished, professor-like appearance, and nobody will get any stupid ideas."

"Ingenuous! Does Dumbledore know?"

"Of course he does, what do you think? But he is the only one; not even the staff have been told, let alone the ministry. And it is most important that nobody finds out."

"Can I at least tell Harry?"

"Well, I expect that eventually you will… But why not play a little game and give him small hints, so that he can find out himself? And if that friend of his, that girl – what's her name? – is as clever as you say she is, she will not have much trouble either."

Somehow the idea of giving Hermione a nut to crack appealed to Fleur, and so she agreed.

"But, Grandma, will you EVER let the school know?"

"Hmm, I might, or I might not; I'm not sure, really. Certainly not before your graduation, cherie, at any rate. And I don't know, perhaps they'll let me keep the job, too…"

"It would be a first, you know, the last five years, no DADA, sorry, Defence teacher lasted longer than a year; they say there is a curse on the job."

"Yes, Dumbledore, fair as ever, told me about that. But then looking at the sort of teachers during the last couple of years it's no wonder. And anyway, I told him I was not afraid… So, who knows? I might actually like it here, although I must say the place is a bit damp, and I expect I'll have to use some huge heating charms to survive in winter."

"And- will you stay like this all the school year? Don't you-"

"Don't I miss looking good?" Vivienne said with a smile. "Indeed, a bit of vanity is one of the Veela characteristics, but I'll do my best not to think of it. The potion lasts for a month, and I have to take it at least every 28 days to make sure there is not interruption in the effects. Yes, there is no way I can be myself during the school year. But I do hope you don't love me for my looks…"

At which Fleur could only giggle and hug her grandmother energetically.

"But to more serious matters," Vivienne continued. "I noticed that three of you managed to resist my little experiment. Now, you, as my relation, should have found it easiest, I believe. As to the other two, there was that boy…"

"Roger Davies," Fleur said bitterly, "I told you about him, remember?"

"Yes; the one who managed, if not to resist the Veela charm, to at least twist it and use it for his own purpose… Obviously, he is gifted in this particular area… And then there was that girl with the parrot – Lyra. She strikes me as a very unusual person, don't you think so?"

"Oh yes, most unusual indeed. I've been wondering about that parrot, too. There doesn't seem to be a place she goes without it – HIM, I should say, he's called Orest, and I'm not sure yet, but I believe he can talk…"

"That's what parrots tend to do, cherie."

"No, I mean, REALLY talk – understand and give meaningful answers."

"Well, you just MAY be mistaken, you have not been with this Lyra for a very long time, actually. And there are quite strange things when it comes to magical creatures."

Fleur thought of Crookshanks, and agreed.

"Now, this girl, Lyra," her grandmother continued, "is someone I need to keep my eye on, just as on you and our friend Roger Davies; actually, I believe I'll invite the three of you to private tutoring lessons, to work on your talent of resistance against curses."

"But Grandma," Fleur complained, "you know what sort of person he is! I don't want to even be in the same room with him, and you want me to work together with him?"

"I understand, dear, but when it comes to fighting the Dark Lord, such feelings must be put aside. Besides," she added with a sly grin, "who knows, perhaps you'll get a chance or two to pay him back…"

"Well, I don't think I'd be interested, but if you say so…" Fleur replied doubtfully. Then a thought struck her.

"You want to work with us because we could resist that curse, right? So I guess it would be an idea to find more students who can do that?"

"Yes, I think so; why are you asking?"

"Harry, Grandma! They say he could even resist the Imperius curse last year!"

"Really? Has he told you so?"

"No, not him, he'd be afraid of seeming to show off, but Cho told me…"

"That's most interesting. If he really could, then it might indeed be a good idea to have him in our study group, even if he is two years younger. Go and check with him as soon as possible. If it's true, tell me and I'll arrange the necessary formalities with Dumbledore. It seems these British are such suckers for rules and deadlines and whatnot that it will probably require a minor miracle to allow a fifth year student to study with seventh years. I'd like to have him in this group, to be sure, he must be an absolutely extraordinary boy, and I'm dying to get to know him, anyway."

"Oh, Grandma, don't! You're making me jealous!"

About half an hour later, Harry and the other Gryffindors entered the same classroom. Just as Fleur's classmates, they were all eager to find out about the new Defence teacher.

xxx

"I bet it's some other incompetent freak," Ron said with a wide grin. "Perhaps another Lockhart, what do you think?"

And he nudged Hermione, who went instantly red and muttered something incomprehensible. Her crush on Gilderoy Lockhart was still something she preferred not to be reminded of.

"I heard Dumbledore himself is going to teach us," Neville piped up. "He could not find a new teacher, so he's going to do it himself!"

"That would be great!" Lavender said. "There's nobody better than Dumbledore!"

"Not that ALL of them were impossible," Harry interjected. "I wouldn't mind to have Lupin back, for example."

"Eee, a werewolf!" Parvati rolled her eyes. "He may have been a good teacher, I admit, but still… I'd never feel quite comfortable near him."

"This just shows-" Hermione turned to her angrily, but she never got to say what it showed. The classroom went suddenly completely dark and there was a collective shriek as nobody could see anything but blackness.

"Nobody move!" came a loud booming voice out of the blackness, and everybody froze. At the same time, there was a blinding flash, double blinding as everybody's eyes were just getting accustomed to the darkness. When the students opened their eyes again, the professor was standing right in the middle of the classroom, her arms folded and her cool eyes surveying the class with a stern expression.

For a moment there was complete silence, but then the students began to chatter among themselves excitedly.

"Wow, that's something for a start!" Ron said in his usual loud whisper, which most of the class could her perfectly well, to Hermione.

"Good enough, I'd say," Lavender whispered to Parvati; "but this need not mean much …"

"And look at her hair!" Parvati whispered back with a smirk. "She could really use her energy for more important things than trying to frighten her students…"

The professor looked at the excited students quietly for a minute or two, then she clapped her hands, and silence fell again. This was, after all, an unknown entity, and it was wise to wait and watch her before deciding how to behave.

"I'm happy to see that my little performance seems to have impressed you. I am Professor Vivian Woods, and I'll be teaching you the important subject of Defence against the Dark Arts. Now, first of all, I'd like you to introduce yourselves, so I can begin to remember your names…"

As in Fleur's class before, the students rose and said their names.

"Thank you for your compliment, Mr. Weasley," she told Ron, after hearing his name. "I'd advise you, though, to practise speaking in a low voice, you might be saying less polite things some time or other."

Ron went a deep colour of crimson as he sat down again.

"Ah Miss Granger," the professor said to Hermione. "I have heard so much about you already. I'm really looking forward to see proof of your celebrated talents."

Blushing even deeper than Ron, Hermione muttered something incomprehensible and sat.

"And you are Mr. Potter," she said before Harry could even open his mouth. "I am not sure whether you will be able to learn very much in these lessons, considering the things I have already heard about you. But I believe you will be a valuable assistant when we do practical tasks…"

There was a surprised murmur in the class as Harry sat down, somewhat bewildered.

"You, Miss Patil," the professor addressed Parvati, and her voice seemed slightly sharper, "will, I hope, learn in the course of this year that looks may be deceiving and that first impressions sometimes don't go such a very long way as the proverb claims."

Thunderstruck, Parvati stood in front of the grey-haired woman, not daring to look at her. The professor's voice softened as she went on, "On the other hand, maybe you will also learn how to make sensible use of your own looks – this can be a very useful tool in more than one respect. – And you, Miss Brown," she said, turning to Lavender, who was looking at her rather scared, "are perfectly right in not letting yourself be overly impressed by a little marketplace trickery. Keep your critical mind and put it to good use."

("Gosh," said Ron to Harry, clearly more impressed than y her dramatic appearance, "she doesn't miss a single thing, this one – we'd better watch out!")

When the introductions were over, - and each of the students had got a concise comment on their behaviour, the professor returned to her desk.

"Now this year, in preparation for your OWLs, we will deal with the following subject matter…"

xxx

"What was the name again?" Dolores Umbridge asked angrily.

She was sitting in one of the leather armchairs in Fudge's office that he kept for informal meetings, sipping at a glass of firewhisky.

"Woods, Vivian Woods," the minister, who was perched on the edge of another arm chair, replied. He waved a piece of parchment in the air with an equally annoyed expression. "Never heard of her."

"Me, neither," the plump woman retorted. "And I believe I know most of the wizarding families' names…"

"I checked it the moment I got this letter; there is a Woods family, somewhere in the moors of Cumberland, but there is, and never has been, a person called Vivian Woods. So, unless she is from abroad, American, or something, she is-

"Using a false name!" Umbridge exclaimed grimly. "I am sure we could check with the American ministry in Salem whether they know of any person of that name…"

"Exactly, my dear Dolores," said Fudge, looking very smug. "And I have already made sure that there is, to the best of their information, no such person in the entire United States – OR Canada, for that matter!" He finished triumphantly.

"So there is clearly something fishy about this Woods woman," Dolores Umbridge stated, sounded very satisfied with this disturbing revelation. "Now the next question is, of course-"

"Whether Dumbledore is being deceived by that woman-"

"Which is highly unlikely, considering his abilities-"

"So that it is a lot more plausible that he is deliberately misleading the Ministry!" Now it was Fudge's turn to sound triumphant.

"And he did not tell you anything in this letter?"

"Absolutely nothing! In its shortness, this letter is an impudence in itself; he just says that he has taken up Madam Vivian Woods as Defence teacher for this year, and that he is sure she will do her task admirably. And he hopes this finds me in good health. As if this sort of thing could do anything to improve it."

"Awful! I have always suspected, dear minister, that Albus Dumbledore does not exactly respect you or your position, but this absolutely impossible! What do you intend to do about it?"

"Unfortunately, the Ministry has no direct authority over Hogwarts' staff policy. I could try to alert the school board, but they are always reluctant to interfere, especially as long as they do not see any concrete danger or any other reason. They would certainly not care whether a teacher is teaching under an assumed name. Yes, if we could prove it's another werewolf, or a banshee, or some creature like that, it would be another thing…"

"Oh. Minister, why don't you send me there for an investigation? You know I'm always happy to do everything in my humble powers to assist you…"

"I know, Dolores, I know. And indeed, this – apart from enjoying your delightful company, of course, - is the main reason I have asked you to visit me here. Screwtape, this invaluable goblin, has finally come up with a piece of legal labyrinth that will enable you to travel to Hogwarts as High Inquisitor for Educational Affairs."

"I'm already on my way, Minister," the toadlike woman said eagerly, but without attempting to get off her chair. "When do I start?"

"I appreciate your eagerness, Dolores. I suggest that you take your time getting ready for the journey, and, let's say, arrange for you to arrive Monday evening. You will travel over the floo network to the Mayor's house of Hogsmeade, where a carriage will be provided for you to get to the castle."

"What will be my powers?" The eager tone in her voice was obvious.

"You will have authority to inspect each and every class and teacher without advance notice; you will choose individual students to interview privately about their lessons and teachers; and you will inspect the students' living conditions, the food, their dormitories, and so on."

"Why? I thought I was to find out about that Defence teacher, that Woods woman?"

"Come, Dolores; Dumbledore may be getting strange in his old age, but he is no fool. So I want him to believe that this inspection is primarily about the well being of the students; that the Ministry wants to improve their situation. You should also hint that there may be money to spend on these improvements…"

"Oh, Minister, I really MUST say it again, you are a genius!"

"Well, I'll admit I'm a bit proud of this idea of mine. And I'm sure you can pull this off, Dolores, I can't imagine anyone better."


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: I'm getting tired of having to say sorry for the long time between updates, but what can I do? Just be patient, will you. It sometimes amazes me how this story seems to develop a life of its own. If it goes on like this, it's going to be one awfully long story indeed! But I don't think this is a bad thing, is it? Thanks to the helpful spirits that assisted me with getting my French right. It is a hell of a hard language to use! Now, enjoy another appearance of our second-least-favourite character, making a fool of herself...

Chapter 17 A Hogsmeade Afternoon

"Are you going to Hogsmeade today?" Belladonna asked Fleur when they had got up on Saturday morning and were getting ready for breakfast.

"But it isn't a Hogsmeade weekend, is it? It's the very first weekend this term, actually?" Fleur said, remembering that Hogsmeade weekends had been a rather complicated thing for Harry and his friends last year. "Don't you need all sorts of written documents to be allowed to go?"

"Not if you are Seventh Year," Belladonna replied with a wide smile. "That's one of the benefits of having made it so high up. So are you going?"

"I believe I will," said Fleur. "There are two friends of mine in the village, and it will be great to meet them again."

And she dutifully told her room mates all about Margaux and Iphigenie and their job at the fashion shop.

"Wow, I've always wanted to find out about French cuisine!" Aurora exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Couture," Fleur corrected her gently, trying not to giggle. "Cuisine is the cooking."

"Which I wouldn't mind getting to know, too," Aurora retorted good-naturedly.

The great hall was only sparsely populated at the time Fleur and her room mates came down for breakfast, and she noted with some disappointment that Harry was nowhere to be seen. Remembering how hungry she had become after a very short time yesterday, Fleur decided to give some of the less nasty products of the house elves' cooking a chance, and she found that the grilled tomatoes and the baked beans on toast were not as horrible as she had imagined, and she even had to admit – if only silently to herself – that there was something to be said for a crisp slice of bacon or two. She could not, however, bring herself to taste the pale sausages that reminded her of fat plump maggots.

After breakfast she told the others she would be going for a spin on her broom, and she agreed to take Aurora to meet Margaux and Iphigenie at the fashion shop in the afternoon.

"Do you want to come too?" she asked the other three girls, but they declined. Lyra shook her head emphatically and made a scornful face.

"Fashion is for airheads and bimbos," she snorted. "I'll never understand why a woman with any self respect needs to make herself look attractive. For men? Ha!"

And she stomped out of the hall shaking her head.

Fleur, who was well aware that she was not completely wrong in her opinion, made a silent resolve to pick up the discussion later on.

_She ought to understand that one can do it for oneself, not for someone else, _she thought.

The air was fresh and crisp, and the sky a pale autumn blue with a trace of mist on the ground and dewdrops still on the grass, when Fleur was walking down towards the quidditch pitch with her broom, her mind full of memories. When she had last seen the place, it had been the dark forbidding maze of the third task of the Triwizard Tournament that had taken such a disastrous turn, and it was with a feeling of uneasiness that she approached it.

However, there was nothing left to remind her of those unfortunate events. The ground was a normal quidditch pitch again, with the two sets of hoops and the spectators' galleries. Everything was quiet and deserted as she mounted her broom and kicked off the ground.

Again, as always when she was flying, the exhilarating feeling of freedom and power filled her complete being. Flying was like a drug to her, lifting her, away from the troubles and sorrows of everyday life, making her forget yesterday and tomorrow and just live for the moment.

As she was happily cruising along, with the occasional dive and spin, just for fun, she noticed a dark dot in the distance that was gradually growing larger. Hovering, she strained her eyes, but as she had to gaze directly against the sun to watch the object, she could not, for quite some time, see what it was. Only when it had come rather near, she recognised it as a large winged animal, with an eagle's head and the body of a horse…

"A Hippogriff?" She said to herself, utterly surprised, knowing that they were quite rare, and were hardly ever seen near human habitations. But then, she reminded herself, the forest was probably full of all sorts of creatures, hippogriffs not necessarily the most unusual. But then, as the creature was only a couple of yards away, she noticed that there was a human figure straddling the hippogriff's neck, holding on to its head feathers with both hands, apparently a man, although she could not see much of his features against the glaring sunlight.

In her surprise, she went into a sudden dive, and when she regained control of her broom, the strange rider had already passed her, and was swiftly disappearing towards the village.

"I wonder what he was up to. It's certainly not something that you see every day," she mused. But then she realised it was time for lunch and she returned to the castle.

When she entered the Great Hall, Belladonna was already waiting for her at the Ravenclaw table, her eyes shining with anticipation. "Lyra's into studying," she told Fleur. "Morgaine only knows what she can be studying, it's the first weekend of the school year, for crying out loud; and I have no idea where the others have disappeared to. I can't understand how one cannot be interested in fashionable outfits; it's so important to look the best you can, don't you agree?"

And she went on to babble about clothes and fashions. Fleur, - who had her own ideas concerning looks, and remembered that there had been several occasions, where she would have given anything NOT to look the way she did, - listened to her indulgently, and had soon forgotten all about the strange encounter in the morning.

They had almost finished their lunch, and Belladonna was starting to fidget, impatient to be off, when Harry and the others appeared and sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"Wait a moment," Fleur told Belladonna, rising. "I'll be with you in a minute."

She went over to the Gryffindors, and sat down on the bench next to Harry.

"I missed you," she whispered in his ear, and was pleased to see him shiver slightly as her breath tickled his skin.

Harry, like all boys his age not the most eloquent of persons, mumbled something indistinct, but returned the squeeze of her hand. She noticed how Ron shot Hermione a meaningful look, who blushed and averted her eyes.

"I'm going to Hogsmeade," Fleur announced.

"But you can't," Ron contradicted, "It's not one of the weekends today."

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, "don't you STILL know the most basic school rules? Seventh year students don't need special permission, if they feel like it, they can go to Hogsmeade every single weekend of the school year!"

"That's bloody unfair," Ron grumbled, and Fleur had to grin at the face he pulled.

"So I wanted to ask you if you want anything from one of the shops," Fleur continued, at which Ron brightened considerably. But before he could open his mouth, Hermione spoke up.

"What he means is that he doesn't care, as long as it's sticky and sweet and destroys his teeth," she said wickedly. "Am I right?"

"The shop is called Honeydukes," Harry put in. "And of course Hermione is right as always. It's a shame I can't go with you," he went on, caressing Fleur's fingers with his own. "But we'll do that on the first occasion, I promise."

"I can't wait!" Fleur replied, rising from the bench. "See you in the evening!"

There did not seem to be too many students making use of the opportunity for an afternoon in the village; as Fleur and Belladonna walked out through the large oaken doors, they were quite on their own.

"Are we really the only ones?" Fleur asked.

"Oh, I guess it's because it's the first weekend, and only a couple of days since school started, anyway. Everything is still rather new, so people will be more interested in renewing their friendships and other contacts…" Belladonna said, surprising Fleur with this piece of insight into the human mind.

She led Fleur towards the three horseless carriages that were apparently waiting for passengers – obviously whoever organised them had not expected large numbers – but Fleur stopped her.

"Why don't we walk to the village?" she asked. "It's such a wonderful day, and it isn't far, as I remember."

She did not want to admit that for some reason, inexplicable to herself, those carriages gave her the feeling of something sinister.

"If you know a good healing charm for the blisters my poor feet will certainly explode in," Belladonna joked. "All right, let's walk, they say it's good for your health. We can always take a carriage back to the castle if I feel too tired."

Briskly they walked along the path by the lakeshore. The sun glittered on the slightly rippled surface, and now and then an arm of the Giant Squid broke the surface lazily, as if waving to them. Fleur felt peaceful and contented, and barely listened to her companion's continuous chatter.

After the short walk along the lake they presently reached the station, a small building, just big enough to offer shelter for five or six people, but with a large sign saying "Hogsmeade" on top. It was quite deserted.

"How many trains are there each day?" Fleur inquired.

"Oh, I don't think there are any during the year," Belladonna replied. "I believe the Hogwarts Express is the only train ever to run on this line, and it just carries the students…"

"But isn't it an awful waste? I mean, all those rails, and signals, and whatnot, just for a train that runs – how often? – four times a year?"

"It's a muggle line, actually," Belladonna said smugly. "And the Hogwarts Express just uses it without the muggles noticing. It's very clever of them, don't you think?"

Fleur, who correctly assumed that Belladonna's 'them' did not refer to the muggles, agreed.

They crossed the tracks and turned left into the road that led into the village.

"Shall we go in?" Belladonna asked, as the Three Broomsticks came into sight. But Fleur declined.

"On the way back, perhaps," she said. "Why don't we just go and meet my friends first?"

So they went on up the main street, past the post office and the sweet shop, where Fleur made a mental not to stop on their return, and at last, next to Zonko's joke shop they found the place they were looking for.

Fleur, who remembered quite clearly what the place had looked like when she had last seen it – a black carved wooden front with narrow windows and badly lit – was impressed at the change. The façade was now glittering and sparkling in all the colours of the rainbow, the windows, although still narrow, emitted a radiant light, and above them a sign proclaimed in huge dancing bright green letters, _Bellefringues – Haute Couture Francaise_

"I don't believe it," Belladonna exclaimed, clearly impressed. "If I remember the boring old shop from last year… Do let's go inside!"

If the shop had been gaudy outside, it was nothing compared to the interior. The whole place was brightly lit, and scores of the most colourful garments were draped on dummies, hung from pegs, or stacked in the high shelves along the walls.

On their entrance, a melodious bell started to chime out of nowhere, and a split second later, from behind a lime green curtain, Margaux appeared.

"Yes? Can I help-" she began, but then noticed Fleur, and with a scream of delight hurried up to her to envelop her in her arms. "Look who's here!" she shouted, and a moment later Iphigenie entered, only to throw herself upon Fleur too.

"But this wonderful!" both girls exclaimed when they finally let go of her. And then they started bombarding her with questions. "Now, how have you been doing? And how is Hogwarts? The lessons? Any problems with the language? Which house are you in? And what about Harry?"

Laughing, Fleur covered her ears with her hands.

"Wait!" she managed to put in. "I'll tell you everything! Just let me breathe again. And why don't we go some place where we can sit down and talk?"

With a pang of guilt she noticed Belladonna, who was standing nearby, looking rather forlorn. She went over to her to pull her towards her two friends.

"This is Belladonna, one of my room mates," she introduced her. "She's eager to get a taste of the French haute couture."

_And she rather needs it_, Margaux' eyes seemed to say, but she took hold of Bella's hands and shook them heartily.

"Welcome," she said. "Sorry if we neglected you, and all, we'll gladly show you around our humble place." And she steered her off towards the shelves, while Fleur and Iphigenie were grinning at each other.

A minute later, the bell chimed again, signalling the arrival of a new customer.

"Business!" Iphigenie hissed, and she and Margaux turned her attention to the newcomer.

Fleur's first reaction was one of amusement at the absurd appearance of the woman: Well past her prime, and of stocky build, almost broader than high, she was wearing robes in rosy pink, a colour Fleur reminded of an overgrown baby, to which impression the dough like appearance of the face contributed a good deal. To top off the ridiculous picture, there was a huge pink bow in the short cropped yellow hair.

When, however, Fleur looked at the woman's eyes, the ridiculous, pathetic impression changed to a creepy feeling. Those eyes were cold like a reptile's, and Fleur shivered involuntarily at the malevolent gleam she thought she found in them.

But Margaux apparently had not noticed anything of the sort. She shot Fleur a quick glance that very clearly expressed her opinion of the woman and her taste in clothes, before she turned to her to inquire after her wishes.

Iphigenie went over to Fleur and Belladonna and pulled them aside.

"She'll sell her the complete outfit, and it's going to cost her a fortune," she whispered to them in an amused tone. She's a genius in the business, believe me. Not that it will be any use, of course; that person will look impossible in whatever she wears. But it will provide a couple of Galleons to be sure…"

And indeed Margaux was laying out several robes in front of the customer, all the while promising how great she would look in them.

"I never knew she was such an accomplished liar," Fleur whispered. Her initial uneasiness had gone, and she found the scene greatly entertaining.

"Indeed," Iphigenie answered, suppressing a giggle. "That emerald green is a marvellous colour, no doubt, but with that hair, and skin like that…ugh!"

After some twenty minutes, the customer had made her decisions, and the emerald green robes, together with a cloak in shocking pink, were magically wrapped up in a parcel. A remarkable pile of gold coins changed hands and the woman marched out of the shop.

Triumphantly, Margaux came over to them, jingling the gold in its leather pouch.

"They'll be satisfied with us, back in Paris," she said, grinning widely. "We could really use such customers more often."

"Morgaine's veil, no! You'd lose all of your good taste in fashion," Iphigenie retorted dramatically. "As far as it goes," she added teasingly.

"Well, I don't expect we'll see her again soon, anyway, and she seemed to have some money to spend… After all, business is business, isn't it?" Margaux said. "Even if it hurts me to see beautiful clothes wasted like that… But why don't you pick something now?" she asked, turning to Belladonna. "It won't be wasted on you, I'm sure."

Blushing deeply, Belladonna turned towards the shelves again, seemingly at loss what to choose from the abundance of different styles and colours. With the gentle assistance of Margaux, however, she finally settled for some deep orange blouse and olive scarf, and Fleur had to admit to herself that these colours contrasted nicely with her mousy hair, and even seemed to accentuate a hidden prettiness in the rather plain face.

"Oh, Bella," she said to her, giving her hand a friendly squeeze, "you do look great! They'll be ever so surprised!"

At which Bella blushed again, but with a happy smile.

After she had paid for her purchase, Margaux suggested,

"Now, why don't we go close this place down for today, after successful business like this, and go over to the Three Broomsticks to celebrate?"

They all agreed, and a couple of minutes later they were sitting in the pub, their mugs of butterbeer in front of them. In the meantime, Bella had stopped feeling awkward among the three close friends, and was obviously enjoying herself

As it was not a general Hogsmeade weekend, there were only a very few students in the pub. Fleur noted two or three of her classmates from the Defence lesson; they nodded at her shortly, looked curiously at Margaux and Iphigenie in their stylish and colourful robes, but presently returned to their conversations, for which Fleur was silently grateful.

They were chatting away happily, Fleur telling her friends about her first experiences with her new life as a Hogwarts student. When it came to the description of the first Defence lesson, she had a hard time not to give away her grandmother's secret, but she managed to keep that part to herself. Even without that detail, Margaux and Iphigenie were duly impressed.

"Seems she knows what she's doing," Iphigenie said appreciatively.

"Especially thinking of the other teachers we had in the last years," Belladonna piped up. "It almost makes me feel sorry I'm not doing DADA any more – but I was really quite hopeless at it," she added with a deprecating smile, "barely managed to get an A in my OWLs. I do hope this one doesn't turn out to be some monster in disguise again, a banshee, or something…"

_You don't know how right you are_, Fleur thought, suppressing a smile.

"Oh, I think she's ok," she said aloud.

"What's that?" Her brown eyes very wide, Bella was pointing at a large deep red rose that had suddenly appeared out of thin air and was slowly floating towards their table. All four girls gasped in surprise, as the rose descended gracefully and landed in front of Fleur. At the same moment, Fleur felt a hand softly touching her shoulder and the whispered words,

"Care to come outside for a minute?"

It was Harry's voice.


	18. Chapter 18

AN: Yes, I hate myself for updating so slowly, but that's just how things go... Thanks for being patient and keeping on reviewing.

**Petites Sorcieres** - unortunately, my French isn't suficient to understand exactly what you're talking about, can you translate for me?

**Rubber duckies -** thanks, plump and fat is really more or less the same.

**PriestessLenoue** - yes, that's exactly what I thought about Fleur in the movie. And there is absolutely nothing Veela-lke about her too!

**Chapter 18Enjoyable meeting**

Blushing furiously and not exactly looking too intelligent, Fleur slowly rose from her chair, unable to say anything.

"Don't bother," Iphigenie told her with a wide smile. "I know it's him! I have no idea how he does it, but it's him all right, yes?"

"Him? – Whom?" Belladonna stammered, her expression even slightly less intelligent than Fleur's.

Fleur, however, finally managed to get something like a grip on herself and nodded sheepishly at Iphigenie, before she followed the gentle tug of the invisible hand in her own, and left the room. From the corner of her eye she saw how Margaux was leaning towards Bella, apparently satisfying her curiosity.

Outside the pub, Fleur, who had never before seen Harry emerge from the invisibility cloak, watched fascinated how first his head, then his arms and finally the rest of him appeared, seemingly out of thin air. There was a broad mischievous grin on his face.

At last, she found her speech, if only to exclaim, "Oh, Harry!" and throw her arms around him, seeking his lips with hers.

For some time they stood there in a tight embrace, oblivious to everything around them, but presently Harry gently broke the kiss.

"It's so good to have you with me again," he whispered to her, taking both her hands in his, and holding her at arm's length to look straight in her eyes.

"Harry," she stammered, feeling her knees quite weak, "how – why – "

"Because I wanted to be with you, of course," he interrupted, planting a quick kiss on her lips. "I knew the village would be more or less deserted, so we could be alone together. Nobody here to stare at us, throw you dirty looks,…"

"But if they catch you? You'll get into no end of trouble…"

"But they won't," he replied, his eyes glittering with pride. "They never have. And anyway, even if they did, it would well be worth the risk…"

A statement that entailed another enthusiastic kiss from her.

After a time they parted for air.

"This is getting addictive," Harry gasped, and his eyes shone with delight behind his glasses.

"I hope it is," Fleur replied, smiling at him warmly.

Their hands intertwined, they slowly started walking down the street, going nowhere in particular, content in each other's company.

They never noticed the toad-like woman who had just rounded the corner and was now standing there, looking after them.

After some time, they reached the side road that led to the Shrieking Shack, and on an impulse Harry steered Fleur up the hill towards it.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, unimpressed by the shabby building. "I know it's supposed to be the most haunted place in Britain, but it's just an ordinary, derelict cabin, really."

"There's a bit more to it than that," Harry corrected cheerfully. "Why don't we sit down on that bench over there, and I tell you all about it?"

But he had hardly started, when there was a loud bark and the huge black dog that Fleur remembered from last year appeared out of nowhere and hurled himself at Harry, quite bowling him over, trying to lick his face.

"Sirius!"

She heard Harry scream, but there was no distress in his voice, only laughter.

"Serious?" she repeated, "You don't exactly sound serious!"

Still laughing Harry picked himself up from the ground.

"Oh, sorry," he panted. "Fleur, meet my godfather…"

"Your godfather - this dog?"

"Of course not," Harry said between bouts of laughter. "Show her, Sirius," he said to the dog, who was sitting by his feet, his red tongue lolling out of his mouth. "She needs to know…"

And to Fleur's utter surprise, the large dog changed and presently a tall black haired man was standing in his place, grinning widely.

"Ah, so we meet at last," he said to her. "Harry has been talking about you all summer, and I must say he hardly did you justice…"

"So it was you last year!" Fleur exclaimed. "I did think there was something strange about that dog… You really could have told me, Harry!"

Unsure what to say, she offered her hand, which Sirius drew to his lips in an elegant, if exaggerated, gesture.

"An ancient French ancestor of mine taught me this," he told her, his eyes sparkling. "I really must introduce him to you some day; he's just a portrait, but he'll be _enchantee_'d…"

He turned to Harry, enveloping him in a strong hug.

"It's good to see you, Harry," he said.

"How did you get here?" Harry managed to ask at last, "and – why?"

"Had to take poor Buckbeak for a flight," Sirius replied. "Poor thing, he was getting depressed, cooped up in that attic for weeks… And I just wanted to see you are all right, Harry. Which I can see you are, from the look of things."

This of course made Harry blush furiously.

"Buckbeak?" Fleur inquired, still very confused.

"The Hippogriff," Sirius told her. "The one that was instrumental in saving me from the ministry's dementors…"

"But I saw a Hippogriff this morning," Fleur said excitedly. "When I was taking my broom for a ride round the quidditch pitch. So it was you…"

"Oh, Sirius," Harry said in a reproachful tone. "What were you thinking? Flying by broad daylight! Fleur's seen you, and there's no telling who else has. What if the ministry find out?"

"Forget them!" Sirius replied, and his boyish grin made him look years younger. "They'll never catch me… And who'd ever look twice at a shaggy old dog?"

"But – Buckbeak?"

"He's back in that cave I kept him last year, well hidden; and he's perfectly happy."

Fleur could not help thinking that a Hippogriff wasn't exactly the kind of creature that could be hidden easily, but she didn't express this idea. Instead, she asked,

"But why is it so important that you are not seen?"

"Ah, my dear, that's a long story. I'm a convicted mass murderer, you see…"

The next minutes were filled with Sirius' tale, interrupted sometimes by Harry's additions, and finally Fleur was familiar with the events that had culminated in the dementors' attack and Harry's patronus and Sirius' rescue. And although her mind boggled at the paradox of the time-turner, she was awed by Harry's achievements.

"Amazing!" was all she could say.

Harry, never one for compliments, blushed.

"But it was nothing," he said. "I mean – of course, it was unusual and all, but, but then, I could do it because I had already done it – you see – I HAD to do it, I couldn't have done otherwise…"

He broke off, completely bewildered with his own train of thought.

"Nobody will ever really understand time travelling," Sirius told him, "so don't even begin to try. It worked, that's what's important, not how or why…"

"But just imagine," Harry went on again, "what a coincidence; that time turner - I mean – if Hermione had not got it from McGonagall,…"

"And the one questions to be avoided at all cost is WHAT IF," Sirius continued cheerfully. "You'll NEVER know an answer to that one, time travel or no time travel. So why can't you just be satisfied that everything turned out exactly the way it did? I for my part certainly am!"

They remained sitting together in companionable silence, until Fleur said,

"I really need to go, poor Bella will think I've forgotten her, and we need to get back to the castle, anyway. And you better do the same, Harry – I'd hate you to get caught just because of me."

"Right," Harry agree, getting to his feet and pulling her with him. "When will I see you again, Sirius?"

"We'll see about that," his godfather replied. "There's always owl post, though you'd perhaps not send Hedwig too often, she's too easy to track. And I might talk to you from the fireplace once in a while. So, good bye, and take good care of yourself."

After an energetic hug, he transformed into the huge black dog again, barked joyfully and dashed off in long bounds.

"So now you've got to know Sirius," Harry said, taking Fleur's hand in his and beginning to walk down the hill. "What do you think of him?"

"He means a lot to you, doesn't he?" she replied softly.

"He does-" he paused to clear his throat before he continued. "He's my only link to my parents, the only person that I can somehow think of as my family…"

"Oh, Harry," she leaned against him, unable to say anything more.

_I hope I can be as important to you some day,_ she thought, keeping back her tears with an effort.

Dusk was already falling when they approached the main street and the pub.

"We'd better part here," Fleur said, stopping Harry. "You really should not be seen around here. How do you get back, come to think of it?"

"Like this," he grinned, taking the Marauder's Map out of his pocket. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

"What?"

"Look!"

Fascinated, Fleur watched as the contours of the map appeared on the formerly blank parchment.

"It's a special map," he explained. "And it shows not only the castle and its environs, as well as some very useful secret passages, it also shows every person around. Look – this is us…"

And he pointed at two tiny dots that were shown on the main street of Hogsmeade.

"Don't worry," he reassured her once more, "this map will warn me in time, so they'll never catch me!"

With a dramatic gesture he threw the invisibility cloak over his head and vanished from sight.

"See you at dinner!"

When Fleur entered the Three Broomsticks, she saw that the three girls were still sitting at the table where she had left them.

"Ah, here you are!" exclaimed Margaux. "We were just wondering…"

"Yes, I was beginning to think you'd forgotten me," Belladonna said, a little petulantly. "And I was just trying to make up my mind if I should go back on my own…"

"I'm sorry," Fleur replied, smiling at her ruefully.

"To make up for it, you'll have to tell me everything about Harry," Belladonna told her mock-sternly. "Your friends have already mentioned a thing or two…"

"Oh well, I will," Fleur complied. "But we'd really better get going now…"

"Right you are. And this time I insist on taking one of the coaches."

After a short detour to Honeydukes, where they bought a solid supply of assorted sweets, they made their way along the now rather dusky main street towards the station, where there were still two carriages waiting for passengers.

"It was lovely seeing you again," Fleur told her two friends, hugging them.

"So it was," Margaux said. And with a wide grin she added, "Be sure to introduce us to Harry next time…"

"Yes, it's a shame we've never really met him," Iphigenie agreed. "Indeed, if I didn't have you-" she leaned into her girlfriend affectionately, "I do believe I could be interested... Only joking," she added rather hastily, seeing Fleur's expression.

"Hey, I have an idea," Margaux suddenly exclaimed. "Why don't we arrange a fashion show for the Hogwarts students? It seems a shame to let such business potential lie waste. Do you think we'd get permission to show our collection up at the castle?" Her eyes were glittering eagerly.

"I have no idea," Fleur said dubiously, "What do you think, Bella? You have known the school for six years now."

"It's VERY unusual; but there's never any harm in asking, is there? So why don't you send an owl to Dumbledore? The worst thing that can happen is that he says no… It would certainly be something new, and everyone would simply go crazy."

"And I have seen some students that could really do with some new rags," Fleur went on. "To say nothing of the teachers… Well, I guess we must get going if we want to be in time for dinner. I do hope Harry's made it back alright."

"I'm sure he has," Margaux assured her. "If only half the things are true that they say about him, this must be a piece of cake to him. So, have a good trip back, and tell him we said hello."

Belladonna and Fleur climbed into the foremost carriage, and noiselessly the horseless vehicle started to move along the road into the twilight.

"What a great afternoon!" Bella said happily, caressing the parcel of her purchase. "And I really like your friends – they have such great taste!" Her eyes suddenly went wide. "Are they really – I mean do they…"

She stopped, looking embarrassed.

"You mean are they together, as in a relationship?"

"Yes, I suppose that's what I mean…"

"That's right, they are a couple. Do you have a problem with this sort of thing?"

"No – I mean it's – I'm not familiar" Bella stammered rather helplessly. "What do their parents say?" she finally blurted out.

"I have no idea, honestly. But I believe they'd have told me about it if there was any problem. Or, of course, they haven't told them yet… But I don't think so; they are not the cheating type. Also, back in France this kind of relationship isn't such a big deal at all."

_Actually, if it hadn't been for Harry…_ But she did not finish this thought.

"Why are you asking," she said instead.

"They look so cute, so happy together…" Bella's voice trailed off, and Fleur did not pursue the topic.

"Visitor to see you, headmaster."

Dumbledore looked up from his papers and shortly touched the crystal globe on the desk in front of him. The globe lit up and showed the place directly in front of the gargoyle watching the entrance to his office.

"Oh, well," he sighed, recognising the plump toad-like woman. "Well, I suppose you'll have to let her pass," he said to the globe, and the gargoyle obediently stepped aside to give access to the moving staircase, upon which Dolores Umbridge presently ascended, to knock on the office door a couple of moments later, thus giving the headmaster some time to rearrange his features to an expression of non-committal friendliness.

"Ah, Dolores," he said in the pleasantest voice he could muster. "I've been expecting you. Did you have a nice journey?"

With an indistinct noise that sounded very much like a croak, she plopped down in the visitor's chair in front of the desk.

"And what can I do for you, Dolores?"

After rummaging in her bag for some time, she produced an official looking piece of paper to which a large red seal was attached on a ribbon, which she handed to Dubledore across the desk, who took it with an expression of mild interest.

"Decree of Appointment…" he read, "High Inquisitor… - I see, old Screwtape has been at work again, good work, really. So what can I do to be of assistance?"

"I would appreciate it headmaster," she replied in her simpering voice, "if you could supply an office for me, where I can conduct the interviews I have in mind. And you will have to make it clear to the teachers that I have authority to summon any student I want during any of their lessons. And, of course, that they are to expect me drop in on those lessons any time, without previous arrangement. Naturally, I, that is, the Ministry, expect full cooperation. But you should emphasise that we have only the best interests of Hogwarts in mind, and that the result of this evaluation, which I have no doubt will absolutely flawless, will greatly influence the Ministry's future funding policy."

"Certainly, Dolores; I will make the Ministry's policy absolutely clear to everyone concerned." The sarcasm in Dumbledore's voice was completely lost on Umbridge, which was probably just as well. "Shall I summon a house elf to show you to your quarters now? You will be tired from your journey."

He didn't wait for a reply but snapped his fingers, at which there was a loud crack and the elf appeared behind Umbridge's chair.

"Before I forget, there is one more thing I think you should know, Dumbledore," she said, without turning round. "This has not been a general Hogsmeade weekend, am I right? Not the very first weekend of the school year?"

"Of course not. Why are you asking?"

"Well, after I arrived at Hogsmeade I went for a stroll in the village and I saw a student in Hogwarts uniform – two students, actually – _kissing_ in the middle of the road…"

"Actually, there are no school rules against kissing," Dumbledore said, sounding amused. "Indeed, they say there is nothing like – what do the youngsters call it these days? – like a good _snog_ to keep up one's spirits. No, if this is all, there's nothing wrong about it."

"It's NOT all," Umbridge continued. "I am quite aware that the school rules show deplorable neglect in this respect, but I would not have expected an attitude that actually ENCOURAGES such flighty behaviour. But as I said, this is NOT all. You said yourself it's not been a Hogsmeade weekend-"

"Seventh year students are allowed-"

"I know," she interrupted impatiently, the simpering tone now quite gone from her voice. "Now, the girl may have been anything between fourteen and twenty, I couldn't really tell. But you will certainly be able to find out if she had a right to be in the village today. I'll recognise her again anywhere. – I did not know you accepted Veela students," she finished, her face now quite flushed.

"Quarter Veela," Dumbledore corrected mildly. "Miss Delacour from France is spending this school year with us. Her SEVENTH year. So she had a perfect right to be where she was."

"The boy, however," and there was a note of triumph in her voice now, "was MOST CERTAINLY not allowed to be there. To my knowledge, Harry Potter is NOT in seventh year! And don't ask me if I am sure it was him – I have seen his face often enough on the front pages during the last couple of weeks! I demand that he be punished severely!"

She did not notice the house elf pricking up his ears at Harry's name.

"Ah well," Dumbledore sighed. "Of course we cannot ignore rule breaking like this. I will talk to his head of house this very evening, and you can rely on Minerva McGonagall to take appropriate measures. I'll see you at dinner then, Dolores? Good. Now,-" he said, addressing himself to the patiently waiting house elf, "will you be so good to show Madam Umbridge to her quarters, Dobby?"


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **So here is a new chapter. Let me say thank you to all you patient readers out there that put up with my long updating intervals. I'd love to do this faster, but... Anyway, enjoy!

**Chapter 19 Detention**

Harry turned sharply at the loud crack that signalled the appearance of a house elf in the Gryffindor common room. Several other heads turned, too, as it was definitely not usual for house elves to appear there at this time of day, or, rather, late afternoon, when the room was full of students. And most of those faces assumed a puzzled expression when they saw the elf was not wearing the Hogwarts house elves' uniform but a very colourful, if ill-matching ensemble of various children's clothing. Clothes on a house elf was a VERY unusual thing.

It was not so unusual for Harry, of course.

"Dobby!" he exclaimed, walking over to him and squatting down to be at face level with the elf. "What are you doing here? Not that I'm not always glad to see you!" he added hurriedly.

"Trouble, Harry Potter, sir," squeaked Dobby, his huge eyes looking even bigger than usual. "Harry Potter is in trouble, sir."

"What?"

"Ministry lady, see Harry Potter in the village, sir. Harry Potter will get detention. Dobby wanted to tell Harry Potter. Perhaps Harry Potter can find a way…"

"Ministry lady?" Harry repeated bewildered.

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir. Madam Umbridge from the Ministry."

"Umbrage? What a fitting name!" Hermione had heard the elf's last sentence, and looked at Harry worriedly. "I told you you'd be caught some day, but you never listened. Well, I expect they can't do too much, can they? A couple of days' detention…"

"And it's been absolutely worth any number of detentions!" Harry told her with a wide grin.

"Had a good snog, at least?" Ron inquired slyly, which earned him a reproachful look from Hermione.

"More than that – no, not what you think, Ron, pull your mind out of the gutter again! – just imagine, we met Si- I mean Snuffles at the Shrieking Shack!"

And he duly proceeded to tell his friends about the afternoon.

Xxx

"The silly boy!" Minerva McGonagall fumed. "Why can't he wait until he is allowed to go? And if he does, why must he be stupid enough to get caught? I suppose there is no way we can just ignore this, Albus?"

"I'm afraid not, Minerva. It would not be a good idea to antagonize the – what does she call herself? – High Inquisitor – really, I must say Screwtape has been doing a great job here – to antagonize her on her very first day. She hates me, anyway, and would jump at any occasion to exercise her new authority. No, Harry will have to be given detention; and I'd ask you to make it as obvious as you can…"

"Oh well," she sighed. "I suppose there is always the trophy room…"

"But Minerva," now Dumbledore's voice sounded amused, and his eyes were twinkling quite merrily, "I'm surprised at your lack of imagination. The trophy room, really! Aren't there more demanding tasks for a wizard of Harry Potter's calibre? Actually, Madam Woods has been telling me she is quite interested in his abilities – having heard such a lot about them – so why don't you assign him to do his detention with her? Not that I want to impose anything on you, you are his head of house, after all, so, if you prefer him to polish the trophies-"

"All right, Albus; I understand you perfectly well." Her face assumed a thoughtful expression. "Madam Woods… You've never told me anything about her… where did you find her? I trust your opinion, of course, if you say she's good at her stuff, then I'm sure she is, but still… There is something strange about her, am I right?"

"I knew I could not fool you; Minerva, and I'm sorry I have to do this, but I believe it is for the best if you know as little about this as possible. So, if you'll forgive me, I'd rather not tell you."

"I'm not sure I can forgive you, but I'll try my best. I will announce Potter's detention at dinner. How long do you feel will be adequate?"

"Well, as we must make it look serious, I'd say a week's worth, from Monday to Friday. However, I don't think a public announcement would be a good idea – MORE publicity is the last thing he needs right now."

Xxx

"I don't believe it," Fleur said to Belladonna at the dinner table. "It's the woman from the shop! What's she doing here?"

But her question was soon to be answered when Dumbledore rose from his seat and the hall fell silent.

"We have a guest tonight," he announced to the assembled students. "Madam Dolores Umbridge, newly appointed High Inquisitor for Educational Affairs-"

"What's that?" A ripple of surprise went through the ranks of the students. Dumbledore waited a moment for it to calm down and continued,

"- who is coming straight from the Ministry. What her task is, well – who better to explain it to you than herself?"

With a gesture that looked ironically exaggerated to more than one in the audience he resumed his seat, while the toad-like woman rose.

"Look, she's wearing that robe she bought," Bella whispered to Fleur.

"Yes, what a waste of a beautiful piece of clothing. Let's hear what she's got to say."

They watched as the plump woman rose from her seat – which didn't make much difference, actually she looked even smaller standing – and began in what sounded a well rehearsed tone.

"Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say! And to see such happy little faces looking up at me!"

"Good for her she's up at the high table," Cho remarked with a grin. "Or the looking up might be difficult. Who does she think she's talking to – nursery school kids?"

The talk went on and soon even those most willing to follow it lapsed into some kind of stupor, incapable of taking in what those longwinded elaborate sentences actually meant.

Nobody could have said how much time had passed until some subtle change of tone announced the end of the speech.

"…the Ministry's pledge to further and enhance the time-honoured excellence of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

She sat down with a deep breath, and Dumbledore rose once again, clapping his hands politely, though not in an enthusiastic way.

"Therefore, my friends, I entreat all of you to assist Madam Umbridge in her task, as it will really be in all our best interest to convince the Ministry that their funding will be put to excellent use. Hogwarts needs all the support it can get, especially at times like these – now that You-Know-Who is back."

As he sat down a loud murmur went through the ranks of the students, and Dolores Umbridge's face went an interesting shade of red; however, she said nothing.

"A week's detention?" Hermione said, looking at the piece of parchment that had just materialised next to Harry's plate. "And with Woods?"

"Yes, doesn't sound too bad, does it?" Harry told her. "Better than scrubbing chamber pots in the hospital wing, don't you agree? Wonder what she'll make me do?"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed, exasperated. "You almost sound as if you ENJOYED this."

"To tell you the truth, I have a feeling I actually will."

Xxx

On Monday afternoon, punctually at five o'clock, Harry knocked on the door that bore the inscription "Professor Woods" in plain letters on a copper plate, upon which the door opened to admit him. Harry entered, and the door closed noiselessly behind him.

He had not had a clear picture in mind of what to expect in the teacher's office, but whatever he might have been thinking of was certainly not what he found. In fact, the room did not look like a teacher's office at all. There was no writing desk, there were no bookshelves, no filing cabinets and no magical instruments. Instead, there was a set of comfortable-looking sky-blue leather armchairs round a small prettily carved table with several candles on it, there was a cosy fire crackling in the grate, and there was a huge window through which the last rays of the setting sun fell with a red and golden light.

Madam Woods was standing next to the window in her severe looking teacher's robes. Although the soft carpet swallowed any sound his entry may have made, she turned round as soon as the door had closed.

"Ah, here you are, Mr Potter," she said to him. "Good afternoon. Your Head of House has seen fit to give you detention?"

"Well," Harry muttered uncomfortably, "you see…"

"You couldn't wait to go to the village," she interrupted him. It was a statement, not a question. "And, unfortunately for you, you were seen… I hope, if nothing else, it will teach you to be more careful with your rule-breaking in future." It was difficult to tell, but there seemed to be the trace of a smile on her face. "Whatever you were up to, was it at least worth the trouble you got yourself into doing it?"

Harry felt his face starting to glow and thought it was better not to answer this question. He found the professor's behaviour quite strange; it almost seemed as if she APPROVED of what he had done. After a short pause, in which he hoped his face had assumed its natural colour again, he said instead,

"What am I supposed to do, professor?"

"That's the attitude," she said approvingly. "Always eager to get things done… Well, I'm afraid this evening, at least, there will not be much for you to DO, more to speak, - speak about yourself- Now, I know how you hate being the centre of attention, or talking about the things you have done, and I hope you'll forgive me. It's not stupid curiosity, as if I was a reporter or something; I am supposed to teach Defence against the Dark Arts, and if there is anybody with first-hand experience of it, it's you, Harry Potter. I need to know as much as possible about Voldemort and his return, and I ask you to do me the favour of telling me as much as you can. – But why don't you sit down?"

She indicated the blue leather armchairs, and Harry, completely astonished, obeyed. In all his experiences with detention, nothing like this had ever happened to him. There was not the least hint of punishment about this situation, and the professor was treating him with respect, almost like an equal.

With a flick of her hand – without using a wand, as Harry noticed in spite of his astonishment, the professor conjured a tray of food in front of him.

"There will be no need for you to miss dinner because of a silly detention," she said, now smiling at him widely. "Now, please help yourself, while I'll ask you a couple of questions, if I may."

In the following minutes, Harry found himself telling this woman whom he had only seen once before in his first Defence lesson everything about his past four Hogwarts years, in a frankness that he would have felt surprised at if he had found the time to think about it.

Xxx

Seeing Harry's place empty at dinner, Fleur walked over to the Gryffindor table.

"Where's Harry?" she asked.

"Hasn't he told you?" Ron said, sounding surprised. "He's doing his first detention."

"And I think it's unfair – you were with him, and you haven't got any." Hermione's voice was severe, but her eyes gave her away. "Lured him to his doom, no doubt," she continued with a grin.

Fleur, though, could not help feeling a bit guilty. "How many has he got?"

"Monday to Friday. And the incorrigible prat seemed to ENJOY it!"

"Yeah," Ron confirmed, "said it was worth any number of detentions, if you know what I mean…"

Fleur blushed. "Tell him I said hello. And – tell him I love him!"

When she returned to her seat at the Ravenclaw table, she found a small piece of parchment there.

_Please see me in my office after dinner_

_Vivian Woods_

"What is it?" Calliope, who had seen her read the note, asked.

"Professor Woods wants to see me," Fleur answered, trying to keep her voice neutral. "Isn't it unusual for teachers to have students see them after lessons?"

"Yes, it is. Unless you're in trouble for something – but you are not, are you? You can't possibly be, not after these few days?"

"Of course not! Well, I guess I'll just have to go and see what it's all about."

So after dinner Fleur dutifully went to her grandmother's office. The parchment with the note must have been enchanted to show her the way, as it seemed to twitch and pull in her hand. She was glad about that; otherwise she would probably have been searching most of the castle for the office. But thus only after a few minutes she found herself in front of the carved door and knocked.

Like Harry before her, she was surprised at the decidedly un-office-like appearance of the room, although, as she told herself later on, it was clearly furnished in her grandmother's taste, blue being her favourite colour.

In one of the armchairs, facing her, the professor was sitting; but in the one opposite, Fleur saw the back of a head of black unruly hair that she would have recognised everywhere…

"Harry!" she just could not help herself saying his name out loud, at which Harry jumped and turned round.

"Fleur!" he shouted, but then, remembering where he was, glanced at the professor, stopped, confused.

Professor Woods had risen from the armchair and was coming over to Fleur with a big smile.

"Good evening, Miss Delacour," she said with a wink that made it hard for Fleur not to giggle. "I have just been having this most fascinating talk with naughty Mr Potter here,-" she made a gesture towards Harry, "who has told me a number of extraordinary things concerning both of you. So I thought it best to ask you to come, too. There are several things I want to discuss with you. But sit down please…"

Obediently Fleur sat down in the armchair next to Harry, meekly pulling her skirt down over her knees, which earned her another amused glance from her grandmother.

"Now, from what Mr Potter has told me, and I see no reason to doubt it, amazing as it may be, it seems that there is quite an unusually strong connection between you that makes it possible for you to reach out to each other in situations of danger. This remarkable ability deserves closer investigation. I need hardly say that in times like these it can be extremely helpful… To make good use of Mr Potter's detentions, I suggest that we conduct some research in the course of the week to try to understand and perhaps channel this ability. Now, if you'll excuse me for a minute, while I prepare some utensils for our first experiment."

With these words she disappeared through a door to the right, leaving a dumbfounded Harry and an only slightly less bewildered Fleur alone in the room.

"This is the weirdest detention I've ever had," Harry said, still dazed. "And I have some experience with them, believe me. I can't imagine what she's up to – but it certainly does not look like punishment. Not when it means being with you," he added taking hold of her hand and giving it a squeeze.

"She thinks we share an ability, she said so; you've told her about the dementor, haven't you? How you saved me?"

"And about you in the graveyard – how YOU saved ME…"

"It seems so long ago – unreal…"

"Oh, it's real enough in my dreams," he said in a tone that made Fleur shiver.

"You're still having those dreams? Why didn't you tell me about them?"

"What would have been the use? It would only have worried you, and I'd still not be able to sleep any better!"

To which Fleur could not find an answer; however, she told herself to do some research about anti-nightmare potions as soon as she got a chance. So, instead of answering, she leaned over for a kiss, which, for some reason, became longer and more intense than she had originally intended.

"Well, well, well," came the professor's voice, causing them to pull apart quickly. "This is not quite the sort of connection I was talking about…"

Embarrassed, Harry tried to look fixedly at an imaginary spot on the wall, unable to say anything. Fleur, although also blushing furiously, saw the sparkle of hidden laughter in her grandmother's eyes and had a hard time to suppress a giggle at his awkwardness.

"As I was saying before," the professor went on, "this – connection between you needs some exploring, and perhaps you can learn to control it so that you can also make good use of it without having to be in mortal danger. Now, Mr Potter, as you are under detention I am afraid I cannot let you out of my sight – it would not do for the High Inquisitor-" her voice was heavy with sarcasm at the words, - "to run into you outside this office; so you will have to remain here. You, Miss Delacour, on the other hand, are free from such obligation, so I want to ask you to get outside, preferably up on the Astronomy Tower. I understand from Mr Potter that you have certain animagus qualities, which, incidentally, are of some interest to me, too. So I'd suggest you use these for this purpose."

_I never knew she was such an accomplished actress. Nobody would ever suspect she has known me all my life._

"And what am I supposed to do when I am there?" Fleur asked, trying to look innocent.

"I want you to concentrate as hard as you can on this room here, and on Harry. To help you focus your mind, this should be helpful-"

She handed Fleur a shining silvery ornament in the shape of the figure eight on a thin chain.

"Harry here will have the same one," Vivienne continued. "Both of you are to think of a message to the other, and if we are lucky, you will be able to hear it in your minds. Now I know 'hear' is not the right word, but there is no other… Of course, we should not be too optimistic, it may well be that it does not work at the first try; so, if you cannot 'hear' Harry up there on the tower, you will come back here after ten minutes. Is everything clear?"

"Yes," Fleur and Harry agreed.

"Fine. So, Miss Delacour, if you'll kindly show me your transformation…"

Obediently, Fleur stood up from her chair, and transformed into her owl form. Harry, who still needed to get used to that, watched her, fascinated. Fleur the owl hopped onto his shoulder and nipped his ear playfully, hooting softly.

"Perfect!" the professor said. Then she walked over to open the window.

"Now, if you please…"


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Even if it's getting bring by now – I'm awfully sorry fort he long intervals. I'm doing whatever I can to update faster, but it just can't be helped sometimes. Thanks to all my faithful reviewers, I hope you'll enjoy this one, too – it should give you a nice mixture of various ingredients.

**Chapter 20 Practising**

Slightly intoxicated by the still unwonted feeling of her bird's wings, Fleur soared out of the open window into the cool night air. After a short detour round Gryffindor Tower, she flew up to the highest, the Astronomy Tower, where, still in her bird form, she perched on the railing.

A movement in the shadows caught her eye – a large toad was, quite understandably, hurrying for shelter at the arrival of what, to it, must look like an enormous shadow of deadly peril.

If an owl could smile, Fleur would have done so at the small animal's frantic scramble to safety.

_Don't worry, you're NOT my idea of a dinner treat,_ she thought to herself, before changing back to her human form.

Taking the amulet her grandmother had given her into her hands, she leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes and concentrated…

Sure enough, she thought she could see the room with Harry in it quite clearly, but try as she might, she could not see what he or her grandmother were doing, even less could she establish a connection to his mind.

Frustrated, she assumed her owl form again and returned.

"Nothing," she said, quite needlessly, flopping down in the chair next to Harry. "I saw – or perhaps I just THOUGHT I saw this room and the two of you, but that's all. And I probably didn't even SEE, but just remembered what it looked like…"

"Well, it would have been too much to hope it would work at the very first go," the professor said calmly. "But there is a whole week of detentions for you Mr Potter, and I expect Miss Delacour won't be averse to the idea of joining us again tomorrow, am I right?"

Again, Fleur had to pull herself together strongly to suppress her amusement.

"No, professor," she replied in her best school-girl voice.

"Fine. So I suggest we meet here again tomorrow after dinner. Now, as I have a feeling certain people had better not see you leave together, Mr Potter, perhaps you'll go back to Gryffindor tower first, while you, Miss Delacour stay a couple of minutes longer…"

Harry rose and, somewhat stiffly, bowed.

"Good night, professor, and – thank you very much…"

"It's me who must say thank you, Mr Potter. You have told me the most interesting things, which I am certain will be a great help with much of my teaching. Good night."

As he turned towards the door, Fleur jumped from her seat.

"Harry! Aren't you going to say good night to me, too?"

Bright red, he turned again and took a hesitating step towards her. But Fleur had already rushed over to throw her arms around him. And while he was still standing there, taken by surprise and blushing furiously, she kissed him energetically.

"NOW you can go," she said after a considerable time, releasing him.

At a loss for words, Harry, horribly embarrassed, glanced at the professor; but her friendly smile reassured him, a little, at least.

"Erm – good night, Fleur," he managed to say and left the room rather hurriedly.

"Poor boy," Vivienne said to her granddaughter when he had closed he door behind him. "His image of a teacher must have become horribly disturbed. But I must say, cherie, I envy you…"

Xxx

When Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room, Hermione and Ron were waiting for him, of course.

"What-" Hermione began, but then she saw the expression in his face. "Merlin! What's she done to you? You look-"

She stopped, at a loss for words.

"You look as if you'd just woken from a Stunning Curse, mate," Ron told rim, looking at him with concern, "and a bummer of a stunner, at that. What's happened?"

"No, Ron," Hermione, who had got up from her seat to look at Harry more closely, said thoughtfully. "It must have been something else – look at that goofy grin of his…"

"She's right, you know, mate," Ron agreed, "she usually is. So what's been going on?"

Harry shook himself, and at last the dazed look disappeared from his face.

"A stunner? You never spoke a truer word! And I'm not talking about the curse, either. You'll never believe this-"

"Try me."

"Remember how I said I had a feeling I'd enjoy this? Well, I could hardly have enjoyed this more…"

And he proceeded to tell them what had happened during his detention.

"I tell you, I can't wait for the next one," he finished.

"Wow," Ron finally managed to utter, rather inarticulately. "I hope I'll get such detention, too. What say, Herms…"

And he nudged Hermione playfully, who was obviously less enthusiastic.

"Are you insinuating, Ron," she said, rolling her eyes, "that you want to get a detention DELIBERATELY? And don't call me Herms," she added as an afterthought.

Ron, although he seemed to have some trouble to understand Hermione's vocabulary, smirked.

"Actually, I was thinking we could perhaps get detention TOGETHER…"

Hermione was not amused.

"Honestly, Ron," she said scathingly, "when WILL you grow up? You don't trifle with detention. Moreover, how can you be sure it wouldn't be with Snape?"

To which, of course, Ron didn't have an answer.

Xxx

"It's potions this morning," Lyra told Fleur at breakfast. "At last you'll meet the one dark spot on the otherwise shiny escutcheon of Hogwarts."

"Snape?"

"That's the one."

"What's wrong with him? Everyone's frightened of him, and hates him, and…"

"See for yourself."

Sure enough, it did not take Fleur long to agree with 'everyone's' opinion, and heartily.

Right away, at entering, she felt the oppressive atmosphere of the dungeon, damp and cold, and dimly lit as it was.

"It gives me the shivers," she muttered to Lyra.

"Yes, and it's more than just the cold…"

The assembled class was fairly small; apart from herself and Lyra, Fleur noticed two Ravenclaw boys (thankfully not Roger), a Hufflepuff girl, from Gryffindor a tall black girl and two red headed boys whom she recognised as brothers of Ron's at once, and five Slytherins.

"Of course," Lyra told her, following her gaze. "He has always favoured his own house, it's a miracle there aren't all of them in this course. But hush – here comes the monster."

With a dramatic swish of his black robes the potions master entered the room through a door next to the board. Everyone fell silent instantly, except for the Slytherins, who continued chatting among themselves for another minute.

"Silence in my classroom," he said, his voice even more dangerous in its whispered tone. Fleur could not help noticing that he was saying it only after the last of the Slytherins had stopped their chatting, so that there was actually no need any more to mention it at all, and that he seemed to be especially glaring at the three Gryffindors.

"This is your final year," the professor continued, not bothering with so much as a 'good morning'. "And I cannot emphasise too much that, as opposed to widespread rumours, the fact that you have made it so far is NOT a guarantee that you will pass your NEWTS. Only the very best will succeed, and there will be no excuses made nor given in this course. This year is going to tax your abilities and skill to a maximum that you have hitherto not experienced, so now is your chance to drop out if you do not feel up to it."

Fleur could not but think that it was rather absurd to decide whether one felt up to something without knowing what it was going to be all about, but when she looked round she saw the words had not failed to make an impression on most of her classmates. She had no time to ponder about this, though; the professor stopped his prowling next to her desk.

"So you are in this course, too, Miss Delacour," he said in a silky voice. "I was wondering… I never knew your kind bothered with the art of potion making… too subtle, I'd expect, what with your talents lying in a rather different field… well, we'll see what we'll see, won't we?"

And he turned away from her, towards the blackboard. The Slytherins snickered.

Fleur was seething inwardly, trying her best not to show how insulted she felt.

"Your first task will be this-" Snape said, pointing his wand at the board, where the words 'Wit Enhancing Potion' appeared, together with a list of ingredients. "Not that it will do most of you much good, of course…"

Fleur had the distinct impression he was looking directly at her while he was saying this, and tried desperately not to show her emotions.

"You will find a description of the procedure on page 10 in your books; now proceed."

"Sir," one of the Slytherin boys said, putting up is hand.

"What is it, Pucey?" Snape said in the friendliest tone he had ever used so far.

"Please, sir, wasn't that stuff we did in fourth year?"

"I'm glad at least one of you remembers what they have been doing." Snape's voice sounded almost happy. "You are quite right, Pucey. Ten points to Slytherin. But if you look at the description in your book you will realise the procedure is different; making the potion more effective – if you do it right, naturally, which I expect not everybody in this class will be able to do…"

"Typical," Lyra muttered under her breath. "If one of us had pointed this out, he'd have taken points OFF…"

"How could he?" Fleur inquired. "It would still have been true."

"He'd have found a way, trust me. Would have told us to look in the book before talking, or something… No matter, let's have a look into the book."

Indeed they found the procedure, as well as the ingredients rather different from what they knew, and a lot more complicated. So the rest of the lesson passed with all of them busy crushing scarab beetles, cutting bloodwort and stirring their cauldrons in various patterns, always keeping an eye on their hour glasses for the exact timing of each step.

"When – or perhaps rather IF your potion has assumed a thick creamy texture and bright shade of purple," Snape said towards the end of the lesson, "you may fill it into a vial, stopper it and stow it away in the cupboard. It has to rest for a full moon's circle before you administer the final touches. For homework, you will write three feet of parchment about the various mind and awareness enhancing substances, their uses and their risks. Class dismissed."

When they left the dungeons, Fleur was still burning with rage.

"Who does he think he is?" She fumed. "Too subtle for your kind… How dare he! I'll show him subtlety! I'll get top marks in his bloody subject, that will teach him!"

"Take it easy," Lyra tried to calm her. "It's not worth it. I told you he was a beast. And if he sets his mind to it, he'll see to it that you barely pass, no matter what you do. So if I were you, I'd avoid antagonising him."

"We'll see about that," Fleur grumbled, as they went along the corridor to their next lesson.

Xxx

When Harry entered Professor Woods' office for his second round of detention, Fleur was already there. After an emotional greeting, the professor, who had been watching it with an indulgent smile, clapped her hands, saying,

"To business! I was probably a bit overoptimistic yesterday, expecting this to work at the first try, and over a greater distance, too. So we'd better begin this with smaller steps. You, Miss Delacour, will step into this room-" she indicated the door to the right, "and you, Mr Potter will read out a page from this book-" here she handed Harry a small book bound in blue leather. "And Miss Delacour will try to find out what you are reading. Now, if you please…"

Obediently, Fleur went through the door into what turned out to be a bedroom, and closed it behind her. She sat down on the bed closed her eyes and concentrated.

Easily enough, she could visualise the sitting room, with Harry on the sofa, holding the blue book in his hands. She also had the impression of her grandmother standing silently behind him, out of his view. But what was he reading?

In the other room, Harry was looking rather confused at the verses the professor was pointing out to him. Having grown up with the Dursleys, and never having been to Muggle studies, too, it was only natural that the lines meant nothing to him.

"Poetry?"

"Indeed," she smiled. "It's a more powerful form of language. Just give it a go."

"If you insist…" And he started:

"_Oh she does teach the torches to burn bright!_

_It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night_

_As a rich jewel in an E…_ a what? … _Ethiop's ear –_

_Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!"_

Realising at last what the verses were about he stopped, blushing vehemently, and looked up at the professor who was standing next to him, watching him quietly.

In the bedroom, Fleur's mind was filled with the strangest images. She could see herself, suddenly, enveloped in a bright light, next to a torch that was growing dim and finally went out for no apparent reason; yet the light that seemed to be radiating from herself was as bright as ever. Actually, SHE herself was now the only source of light in utter blackness.

The image vanished, and she could see Harry again, much clearer this time, and her grandmother talking to him.

"_So shows the snowy dove trooping with crows_

_As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows."_

Harry, now warming to the flow of the verses continued, and again, Fleur saw the according images in her mind – and she was in no doubt at all that the white bird among the black flock was herself.

"_Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!_

_For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."_

With a shock, Fleur realised she could now actually understand EACH SINGLE WORD. The meaning of the lines hit her like a blow, and she stormed into the adjoining room without thinking.

"No, Harry!" she shouted, flinging herself on her knees in front of Harry's chair and grabbing his hands. "No! It's not true! Tell me it isn't!"

Harry had dropped the book and was looking at her completely dumbfounded.

The professor, however, bent down to the girl and took her gently by the shoulder to pull her up from the floor.

"Now, now," she said soothingly. "It's only a few verses from a Muggle poet… nothing to worry about…"

"But- but it's what I'm so frightened of," Fleur stammered. "You see…"

"Me loving you for your beauty?" Harry exclaimed, jumping up and folding her in his arms passionately. "Don't …"

He stopped, unsure what to say, and kissed her eyes, where tears were welling up.

"How can you doubt it?" he muttered between his kisses. "The prophecy, and the dementor- doesn't all this mean anything?"

Slowly she relaxed and let herself melt into his embrace.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just couldn't help it…"

The professor, who had been watching the scene silently, spoke up again.

"I'm really sorry for the distress you have suffered, but I gather, Miss Delacour, that my little experiment has met with a certain success? Would you be so kind and tell me about your impressions?"

So Fleur told them about the images that had flitted to her mind, and how she had at last been able to understand the exact wording of the last two lines.

"Yes, Poetry is a powerful tool," the professor said musingly. "It stirs our deepest emotions and this seems to have triggered your abilities once again. So I believe we should be thankful for this emotional outburst of yours…"

"I was certainly no joke for me, I can tell you," Fleur remarked, her voice still bitter.

"Yes, dear, I understand you perfectly well. Nevertheless, we have made a great step forward. Tell me, Mr Potter, what were your thoughts and feelings while reading?"

"Well," Harry replied, blushing once again, "It doesn't take a genius to understand it, and naturally I had to think of Fleur – how could I not? But OF COURSE I think these last two lines are rubbish – you do believe me, do you?"

At the pleading look in his eyes Fleur felt her anger and her anxieties ebb away.

"Of course I believe you, Harry," she said quietly.

"I think it's time for you to go, Mr Potter," the professor said gently after a couple of minutes' silence. "We will meet again tomorrow; and I believe after this breakthrough – painful though it may have been – we are likely to make good progress."

When Harry had left, Fleur turned to her grandmother.

"What were you thinking of, giving him those lines to read? Couldn't you imagine how they would make me feel?"

"I'm so sorry, cherie," Vivienne said, sounding contrite. "I must admit I thought this particular sort of poetry would work with you, but I did not expect you'd react so strongly..."

"Well, I did," Fleur retorted dryly. "Who wrote that stuff, anyway?"

Vivienne told her, and added,

"I sometimes wonder if he really was a Muggle…"

Seeing Fleur still looking somewhat unhappy, she went on,

"There is really no need for you to worry, cherie. Did you notice how fast he realised why you were so upset? How could he understand you so well if he was that kind of person?"

"O, Grandma, you are right as always!" Fleur sighed happily as she turned to leave.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again, cherie, I envy you!"

A/N: Just out of curiosity: What was Harry reading?


	21. Chapter 21

**Well, kind of a filler chapter, nothing exciting hapening here, hope you enjoy nevertheless. Thanks to all my patient reviewers - I'm truly sorry for the delays, but there's nothin I can do about that... Hope you enjoy, nevertheless.**

**Chapter 21 An enjoyable week**

_Dear Minister,_

_This is just a very short note to let you know I have arrived and am feeling well. I have only been here for a day so far, and have just begun to settle in. Everybody is very helpful and friendly, and my rooms are very comfortable. I will begin my interviews and inspections of lessons as soon as I have made myself familiar with the schedule of the school. I have not talked to the new professor yet, but I have the impression that she is a very interesting person. In spite of my short stay, I have already found out something very remarkable, however, I will not send this information by owl, but will floo to the ministry to talk to you personally in due course. I expect to be able to come up with more detailed information by the end of next week._

_I assure you of my very best efforts in the interests of the ministry,_

_Dolores Umbridge_

_PS: Headmaster Dumbledore told me to say he hopes this finds you in good health._

The High Inquisitor re-read her letter with a concentrated frown.

"Well, this should be pretty harmless, in case they watch my mail," she muttered. With a grim smile she sealed the parchment and tied it to the leg of a brown school owl that was patiently waiting on her desk.

"Yes, there is definitely something rotten in the school of Hogwarts," she said to herself as she watched the owl fly out of the window. "But I must be patient, and I can certainly not show my suspicions… I need proof…"

Xxx

"Inter-curricular period," Calliope wondered, looking at the slip of parchment the seventh year Ravenclaws had been handed at breakfast, "wonder what it's supposed to mean. It's in the Charms classroom…"

"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough," Lyra said cheerfully, helping herself to some bacon and eggs. The others followed her example; even Fleur had begun to appreciate some aspects of the English breakfast after going hungry for a couple of mornings.

When the students had assembled in the Charms classroom, nobody had an idea what that unfamiliar expression meant, but when, together with Flitwick, Professor Woods entered, they understood.

"Good morning, good morning," the tiny professor said happily, as he climbed up on his book-stack and surveyed the class. "You may remember me announcing that there would be close cooperation with DA-" he checked himself as he saw Woods' stern look, "-Defence, I mean. So today will be the first of a series of joint projects that will help you to profit as much as you can, and to be as well prepared as it is possible for the dangerous times ahead of us."

"I know," Woods spoke up, glaring at a couple of students – mainly Slytherins – who had been snickering at Flitwick's words, "that some of you are not entirely convinced that what Headmaster Dumbledore told you is true, and we are not going to argue the point; however, if there is even a very slight chance that it MIGHT be true, everyone needs to get all the training they can get…"

She was interrupted when the door opened and the bulky form of Umbridge appeared in the classroom.

"I was wondering-" she said, more to herself, without bothering with a greeting. Brandishing a clipboard and quill, she plopped down ungraciously on an empty chair in the front of the classroom.

"And a very good morning to you, too, Madam Umbridge," Professor Woods said, rather pointedly, before addressing the class again.

"As I was saying, even if there is the slightest chance of – _Voldemort's_ return," she looked at the Inquisitor as she was saying the name, and seemed satisfied with the latter's involuntary flinch, "and I may say that I believe that chance is a LOT greater, - so, if there is a chance of _Voldemort's_ return, …"

"I must protest," Umbridge interjected, her face a deep shade of purple. "The Ministry's attitude in this matter is very clear. Whatever unfortunate accident happened during the Tournament has nothing whatsoever to do with Him-who-must-not-be-named. All rumours to the contrary are irresponsible, attention-seeking, panic-mongering –" she seemed to be searching for a climactic expression, and finished, rather lamely, "well – rumours."

"Be that as it may," Professor Woods continued with a shrug. "It is never wrong to acquire certain abilities, or to enhance inherent powers by methodical training."

"Which is exactly the aim of this joint project," Flitwick finished with a benevolent smile. "And I am sure the Ministry will be pleased to see innovative ways of teaching at work."

Umbridge muttered something incomprehensible and started scribbling furiously on her clipboard.

"As we were discussing the other day," Flitwick continued, obviously unimpressed by the Inquisitor's evident anger, "basically any spell, or charm, if used with a negative intention, can be used as a hex, jinx, or even curse. On the other hand, most hexes or jinxes can come in very useful as means of defence, hence the term counter-jinx. - Yes, Miss Reed?"

"But, sir," the Hufflepuff girl said hesitantly, "wouldn't it be enough to simply use a hex deflection or shielding charm? Isn't there the danger of counter-jinxes causing damage?"

"That's what they are there for," Professor Woods remarked, somewhat dryly, causing Fleur to smile in spite of herself. "A simple shielding charm, as I hope you all know, is very draining and cannot be kept up for a longer time; you'll have to drop it sooner or later, and then where are you? No, there is no such thing as 'passive defence', not in the long run. Of course, a shielding or deflection charm will be your first choice if taken unawares, but then you'll have to retaliate, there's no way out of that."

"But Slinkhart says in his book-" Umbridge began.

"That you can solve all your problems by negotiation and non-retaliation," Woods cut her short. "I'm quite aware of it; that's why it's called _Defensive Magical THEORY_. I would really like to see Slinkhart _negotiating_ with a Dementor."

Most of the students grinned, and Umbridge's complexion turned another shade redder.

"Now, to come to the subject matter of this class," Flitwick said, bowing to Professor Woods from his bookstack. "If you please, professor…"

And before the students had quite realised what was happening, Woods had whipped out her wand, pointed it at Flitwick and said "_Confundus!_", her voice in no way louder than usual, but somehow clearer and filled with an energy that was almost visible.

The tiny professor staggered on the pile of books he was standing on, and for a moment it seemed he was going to fall; but presently he steadied himself, his wand appeared seemingly from nowhere, and he bellowed, "_Reduplicare!_"

No the energy rebounding from him WAS visible – a jet of light shot towards Woods enveloping her in a pale yellow aura and causing her to stumble, as if blinded, against the wall. But before she hit it, Flitwick's "_Finite Incantatem!_" restored her control of her movements and she caught herself in the last second.

The class, speechless for a moment, broke into applause, while Flitwick hurried over to his colleague.

"You are alright, are you?" he inquired anxiously.

"Of course," came the answer. "But let me commend you on your reaction, it did surprise me indeed. – Well," she turned to address the students. "What did you notice about this little performance?"

"Confundus usually does not have such violent effects," one of the Gryffindor girls said. "It must have been that counter-spell…"

"Indeed it was," Flitwick nodded. "A very useful tool, but not as easy as it may look. The usual swish and flick is certainly not enough here… Now, if you will be so kind as to pair up with partners; we are going to practise this…"

The rest of the lesson passed with the students practising the new spell, and it soon became obvious that it was certainly a tricky business. Fleur, who was paired with Lyra suffered a couple of nasty collisions with various pieces of furniture or an occasional student when she failed to repel Lyra's spells, but to her secret satisfaction Lyra did not fare any better when the defence was her turn. Towards the end of the lesson, however, both of them managed, if not to completely to throw the spell back with redoubled force, so at least to deflect it and return it to its source.

"I feel like I'm black and blue all over," Calliope groaned as they left the classroom. "But I'll say this: the woman certainly knows her stuff."

The other girls agreed, and Fleur felt a strong feeling of pride for her grandmother.

When the students had left the classroom, Umbridge, who had kept to the background during the lesson, got up from her chair and marched over to Professor Woods.

"A word with you," she said to her brusquely.

"Yes?" Woods' tone was perfectly neutral and devoid of emotion. "I trust you are satisfied with the lesson?"

"Who are you?" Umbridge growled, ignoring the question. "The records of the Ministry don't have any information about you. And what are your credentials?"

"As far as I know," Woods replied, her voice nearing freezing point, "regulations say that it is the Headmaster's sole responsibility to hire staff for his school. Applicants for positions here have to answer to him alone, and the Ministry has no call to interfere with the headmaster's choice. Correct me if I'm wrong. So, unless you have to make some comments on the lesson, you will excuse me…"

Umbridge's ugly toad-like mouth opened and closed without a sound a couple of times; Woods gave her a radiant smile and left the room.

The next couple of day passed uneventfully, at least as far as the average students were concerned. The High Inquisitor could frequently be seen talking to students, and dropping in on various classes, and the general impression was that she became moodier and her expression – as far as that was possible for someone with a face like hers – even more sour and malevolent than it had already been.

Harry's 'detention' continued, and his mental connection with Fleur improved a good deal, so that by the end of the week they were able to communicate wordlessly from one room to another. Needless to say, that those detentions were not only satisfying insofar as they developed their magical abilities.

"She is a VERY unusual professor," Hermione remarked when Harry returned from his last detention, looking extremely content and pleased with himself.

"Why?" Harry asked innocently.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Why? Can you imagine a teacher, - ANY teacher, - assigning you snogging detentions?"

Somehow it had never occurred to Harry to look at it that way.

"But – but we have been practising…" he began, turning a deep red.

"Practising WHAT?" Hermione interrupted scathingly. "So you've improved some sort of link between the two of you that's already been there, big deal… I guess you'd have got the hang of that sooner or later anyway. Why she is encouraging you like this – it's simply beyond me. I'd never have expected a teacher to disregard school rules like that. There is something strange about that woman, take my word for it! And I'll find out!"

"Well, I believe if there IS anything to find out, there's nobody better to do it than you," Harry told her, smiling. "Though I can't imagine what that might be…"

"Come on, Hermy," Ron interjected. "Give him a break. Why, one could almost think you were jealous…"

"I'm NOT jealous of ANYBODY, Ronald Weasley," there was a note of danger in her voice, "and HOW often have I told you not to call me Hermy!"

"Oops," said Ron, retreating from her hastily. "I just-"

He stopped when he saw her look and disappeared hastily up the stairs.

"Honestly," growled Hermione, "when will he ever learn?"

"It's Quidditch tryouts tomorrow," Cho told Fleur when they sat down to dinner on Friday evening. "You haven't forgotten, have you?"

"Of course not," Fleur, who had completely forgotten everything about it during the last week, said, trying to sound truthful. "When?"

"Right after lunch," Cho said. "And I am so glad you are giving it a try."

Her voice was full of eagerness, and she looked livelier to Fleur than she had ever since the start of term. Fleur, glad that her friend had finally found something to keep her from brooding, put her hand on her arm.

"I'm still not sure they will even want me on the team…"

"Rubbish! They'd be crazy! I watched you last year – you are GOOD. Have you given it any thought yet – I mean, what position you want to play?"

"I've told you already, nothing where I have to hit those bludgers, and I don't care too much about getting hit with them, either; so, perhaps I could try for Seeker, what do you think?"

"Same like Harry, eh?" Cho grinned, nudging her. "Why not? I guess I can always take up Chasing, as well…"

"Oh, I forgot, you are the Seeker-"

"No problem, I've always believed in diversification. So, how about some warming up tomorrow morning?"

After Breakfast on Saturday morning they walked over to the Quiditch pitch. It was one of the typical – if rare - Scottish autumn days, with a pale blue sky, a few hazy whitish clouds lazily swimming across it; the sun was not strong enough yet to dry the dewy meadows, and to Fleur, who was used to a softer climate, the air felt chill.

"Erm- there is something I ought to tell you-" Cho began, sounding embarrassed.

"What is it?"

"Well- don't be mad at me, please, but- it's about- about Roger…"

Fleur stopped in her tracks.

"Roger? Roger DAVIES?"

Yes- he- he asked me if I- he wants to – to talk to you…"

"And he thinks if you ask me prettily enough, I will?"

"Ye-es; now you are mad, aren't you?"

Fleur was silent for a moment, trying to analyse her feelings. And it was with some surprise that she realised she felt – nothing. All her anger, her humiliation and embarrassment had somehow just drained away.

"Believe it or not," she told her friend, who was watching her anxiously, "no, I'm not mad. Not at you, and not even at him, any more. It all seems so long ago, somehow, and so unimportant… No," she repeated, giving Cho a quick hug, "I couldn't care less."

The walked on in a companionable silence, then Fleur asked,

"What does he want?"

"He didn't say exactly… Apologize, most likely… I guess he realised you'd be playing Quidditch together, and thought it would be good for the team spirit or something, if you get along… Anyway," she added as they approached the pitch,"you'll hear for yourself, there he is…"

And indeed, a figure in the blue and bronze Ravenclaw quidditch robes that had been standing beneath the hoops was turning and walking towards them slowly.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Well, guys, it's the same old routine; RL will take ist toll and so it has been an abominable time since the last update. Thanks to all those wonderful reviews, they keep me going. This is a bit short I know, but I thought it would be better to post it as it is and try to get the next part under way asap.

Chapter 22 Challenges

In spite of herself, Fleur felt a sudden wave of insecurity surge inside her, and it took her some will power to continue her walk down to the pitch. After a couple of steps, Roger was standing directly in front of her. The light was behind him, so she could not read his expression.

"What is it?"

Her voice was cool, and her face calm; automatically, she had adopted her haughty reserved poise that had helped her through so many unwelcome encounters. She was completely unaware how ravishingly beautiful she looked, there in the bright morning light.

"I – wonder if we can talk?" Roger's voice sounded uncertain.

"What about?"

"Well... you know… the ball…"

"I don't see there is much to talk about – and – it's over, so what does it matter, anyway?"

"Um- I – I suppose I – want to – to apologize…" his voice trailed off.

"Apologize?"

"Well, yes… guess I didn't behave as I ought to… carried away, you see… So – well, I'm sorry!" The last few words were blurted out in a rush.

"Sorry? What EXACTLY are you sorry FOR? Let me see… Trying to kiss me, when you knew DAMN well how I felt about that sort of thing?"

"Well, yes, of course… wasn't quite myself, ok? There WAS that charm, wasn't there? So perhaps it wasn't entirely my fault, was it?"

"Do you know – I think it just may not… Anyway, it's gone, so it shouldn't matter… But later – remember what you told everybody? How I TOYED with you? What a NASTY piece I was? And DON'T tell me it was still the charm working on you!"

Something in her voice made him take a step back from her.

"But that's over, too," she continued. "And I just don't care any more… And I believe I paid you back, didn't I?"

A dreamy expression floated across her face as she remembered the unicorn.

"So, all things considered, yes, apology accepted. We are not going to be FRIENDS, most likely, but I expect we'll just get along, well enough to play quidditch together, at any rate… Just remember – You will NEVER _have_ me, as you put it so sensitively."

She turned away from him and towards Cho.

"I think we have some practising to do," she said cheerfully.

Xxx

"You're WHAT?" Harry gasped, almost choking on his apple crumble.

"Trying out for the Ravenclaw quidditch team," Fleur said, grinning and patting him on the back. "You know – quidditch – bludgers and snitches and things… Cho asked me," she added.

"You – and quidditch?"

"Yes, Ron. What's so extraordinary about that?"

"Well, somehow- I – I just never pictured you in a quidditch team…" His voice trailed off, possibly because he had seen Hermione's expression.

"Little blondie too fragile for the tough sport, is that it?" Fleur inquired, giving him a wilting glance. "Too dumb too, perhaps?" She added sweetly.

"Well done, Fleur," Hermione said appreciatively. And to Ron, completing his embarrassment with another death stare, she continued,

"Honestly, you should know by now that looks are not everything."

"But- but that means we'll be playing against each other…" Harry stammered.

"Obviously. If they'll have me, that is. Perhaps they'll find I'm not good enough, anyway."

"Are you joking? I've seen you flying! They'd be mad to refuse you."

"Thanks, Harry." She planted a quick kiss on his forehead. "I've had a good teacher, of course…"

At which Harry blushed deeply.

"Mind if I go watch this afternoon?"

"Oh you're welcome. I always love to have you near me you know…"

Xxx

The afternoon had become quite warm and was bathed in golden autumn sunlight, when Fleur, together with Cho and a group of further prospective team players, made her way down to the pitch. Roger was already there waiting for them.

"He's the team captain, is he?" Fleur, to her own surprise, found herself saying to Cho.

"Yes – but you know that," Cho answered, a note of surprise in her voice. "And he apologised. So what's the problem?"

"I'm being silly, I know. It's just – I don't see myself taking orders from him…"

"Oh, forget it; I'm sure he'll know what's good for him…" Cho squeezed her friend's hand reassuringly.

"Ok, everybody," Roger Davies said briskly, ignoring Fleur completely. "First, let's see how you all manage that broom. Follow my manoeuvres. On my whistle – one – two – "

They kicked off, and Roger led them in a series of increasingly exacting and daring loops across the length and breadth (and height) of the pitch. It soon became apparent that not all of the flyers were up to it and one or two of them ended up on the ground again after just a few minutes, looking rather shaken. Fleur, however, could follow Roger's moves easily enough, even if, grudgingly, she had to admit his flying skills were certainly far above average.

_Show him what you can do!_ Harry's voice suddenly sounded inside her head. She was so surprised that for a moment she almost lost control of her broom. Looking down to the ground, she saw the familiar figure in the stands; he must have arrived without her noticing.

She grinned to herself and urged her broom into a mad dive, completely surprising Roger and the other three flyers. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed how Roger, after a second of surprise, raced after her. Flattening herself against the broom handle, she increased her speed to the absolute maximum, almost vertically down to the ground.

"I'll show you!" she told herself, clenching her teeth and gripping the broom handle hard. "You just watch out!"

She felt the blood pound in her ears and her hair whipping her face as she raced down. Somewhere she could hear someone screaming, but the sound meant nothing to her. Inches from the ground she tore the broom upwards and felt her heels rip across the lawn. She was vaguely aware of a dull thud somewhere behind her, even before she gained height again and finally came to a standstill some ten feet above ground. When, panting heavily, she looked around, she noticed Roger Davies, sprawled on the lawn, spattered with dirt, his broom lying a couple of feet away from him. The spectators were beginning to move towards him when he sat up, shaking his head in a bewildered manner.

_That was amazing!_ Harry's voice told her, even as she descended. _Couldn't have done this any better myself – and I mean it!_

Trying to hide her satisfaction, Fleur dismounted and walked over to the small group around Roger.

"Are you all right?" she heard her self asking, and part of her felt ashamed, while another part kept thinking it served him right.

"Yes, I - I think I am…" he groaned as he stood up uncertainly. "You – you are _good_…"

"Never seen anything like that before," Cho agreed, and Fleur felt herself blushing. While Roger's appreciation didn't mean anything to her, she was very proud of Cho's praise.

"So – am I in on the team?" she asked.

"Are you joking? There's no way we're going to lose any match with you!" Cho was enthusiastic.

"I suppose you'll make a good seeker," Roger, who seemed to have recovered from his crash, said. "If this is all right with you, Cho," he added, seemingly as an afterthought.

"Oh, it's ok with me," Cho replied lightly. "I've always wanted to try being something else – keeper, perhaps?"

"Fine. Well, I think I have seen enough. You three-"he waved at the rest of the applicants, who were still hovering uncertainly on their brooms, "you are in. I'll still decide which positions you'll play – beaters, most likely. There'll be training units during the next days to make you – erm – familiar with the techniques. Thanks for coming."

And he shouldered his broom and walked towards the castle, rather stiffly, as Fleur noticed, unable to stop herself from grinning.

"Fantastic!" Harry came rushing down the stands and hugged her enthusiastically. "You have no idea how gorgeous you look, flying like that!" He whispered in her ear.

"Hush – you know I hate that!" But she felt so exhilarated that, for once, she could enjoy the compliment.

"Ahem – I guess I'm quite superfluous here," said Cho in what, to Fleur, sounded a rather wistful tone of voice, and turned to walk up to the castle, together with the other Ravenclaw flyers.

"She misses Cedric," said Harry, releasing Fleur. "I do feel sorry for her…"

Xxx

Days went by; Snape was nasty as ever, but, however grudgingly, Fleur had to admit he knew exactly what he was doing, and she felt she could learn a good deal in his classes; Charms classes were satisfying, especially when I came to trying various hexes on a partner and that partner happened to be Roger Davies, which, for some reason, happened rather frequently in their inter-curricular lessons together with Professor Woods; Ancient Runes was becoming more and more of a routine activity, as she realised that they had covered pretty much all of the subject matter in her last Beauxbatons year; she rather enjoyed Herbology, not so much because it was fascinating in itself, but because she liked the more physical occupation involved in the pruning and potting, and, after all, it was always useful to have some background information concerning potions ingredients.

Transfiguration was turning out to be a fascinating subject.

"This year, you are going to learn the transfiguration of humans," McGonagall told them in their first lesson. "And let me make myself perfectly clear on this point: Transfiguration of humans is DEFINITELY the most dangerous field of magic. Can anyone tell my why? Yes. Miss Parry?"

"It's not the Transfiguring in itself," Lyra said. "It's the UN-Transfiguring that may so easily go wrong."

"Exactly. To say nothing of all the things that can go wrong in the Transfiguration, if you are careless, of course," the professor added dryly. "Now, there is, of course, one very important point to be considered when Transfiguring humans – any guesses what that may be? Miss Johnson?"

"They might not like it?" There was a wide grin on the girl's face as she said it, which caused the professor to frown at this display of flippancy.

"Correct, even if I myself would have expressed it a bit differently," McGonagall said, the corners of her mouth seeming to turn upwards ever so slightly. "It is, actually, ILLEGAL to Transfigure people WITHOUT their express permission. So, why is it being taught at school? You might well ask. And indeed, there are certain – authorities who believe it should not be part of the curriculum at all."

Her voice turned quite grim, and everyone in the classroom knew who she had in mind.

"As we are heading towards difficult times, however," the professor continued, "It has been thought useful for graduates of this school to be familiar with the essentials of this particular branch of transfiguration…"

A thought suddenly occurred to Fleur and she put up her hand.

"Excuse me," she said when the professor called her, "Would the Animagus transformation be part of this, too?"

"A good question, Miss Delacour, The Animagus transformation is indeed one specialised field of this particular area of Transfiguration. The important difference of course is – "

She was interrupted when the door opened and Dolores Umbridge wheezed her way into the classroom.

"Ah, we have a visitor," McGonagall said in a voice so thick with friendliness that most of the class found it hard not to snigger. "I wish you a very good morning, and I do hope you'll be impressed by my humble efforts in this lesson. As I was just saying-" she continued after a short pause, in which Umbridge had settled down on a chair next to the teacher's desk, "the important difference between normal Transfiguration and the Animagus change is – Mr Harper?"

"Animagus is a natural skill that does not require wand magic," a tall thin boy in Hufflepuff robes said.

"Correct, but not the really important difference. Miss Honeychurch?"

"Animagi retain their human abilities in their animal form," a Gryffindor girl with long dark curly hair replied.

"Exactly. While Transfiguration of humans DEPRIVES them of all their human faculties and turns them into a normal animal. And therefore, naturally, as opposed to the Animagus, they cannot turn themselves back to their normal form. Which, of course, is also the explanation why this branch of magic is – theoretically – illegal."

A grim snort came from Umbridge's chair.

"And why it is to REMAIN so," the toadlike woman said. "And why it is not to be taught, either."

McGonagall, with admirable self-control, continued as if no interruption had taken place.

"While talking about Animagi," she went on, with only a slight edge to her voice, "It may be useful to go into an aspect that can come in handy, especially-" and here she looked at Umbridge rather pointedly, "in difficult times, when it may not always be easy to distinguish friend from foe. I'm sure you have already learned about the spell that will force the Animagus to transform back to their human form. However, there is another, more difficult spell – so difficult, in fact, that it isn't even mentioned anywhere in the laws governing education – which will do the opposite. Namely, tell you if a human sitting in front of you and looking quite harmless, is actually an Animagus. – What is it, Dolores?"

During these words, Umbridge had become somewhat restless and now she rose from her chair.

"Erm – just remembered…" And muttering indistinctly, she waddled out the door, slamming it behind her.

In anybody else's face, McGonagall's expression would have been described as a smirk as she went on.

"However, first things first. Transfiguration of humans will work like this…"

Xxx

"Couldn't be any clearer, could it?" Hermione's voice was excited when after dinner Fleur told her friends about the incident in Transfiguration.

"What?"

"Oh, Ron," her eye-roll was theatrical. "Even you ought to catch up on this one. Animagus. Umbridge. OK?"

"And McGonagall must have known," Harry agreed. "Or why else would she have said that?"

"But she didn't teach us the spell," Fleur said ruefully. "Said it was too difficult, and perhaps towards the end of term…"

"Well, we don't need her," Hermione's tone was decisive. "We have done this sort of thing before. So the thing to do is-"

"The library." There was no sign of enthusiasm in Ron's voice.

A/N: Well, here you are –Challenges on more than one level. I'll give you three guesses as to old Umbridges Animagus form 


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Dear friends, here I am again with the next little piece, where good old Dolores plays an important – if transient – part. I do hope you'll enjoy this and say the same about it as the chapter title:

**Chapter 23 - A job well done**

Their research in the library proved to be slow and tedious, but Fleur knew Hermione well enough by now to realise quite quickly that she was rather enjoying the challenge.

"You do like things not to be easy, don't you?" she told her, as she was lugging another fat and heavy tome onto their desk.

Hermione did not bother to reply, but the sparkle in her eye was answer enough.

"Give it a break, Herms – I mean 'Mione," Ron groaned from his chair in which he had slumped so as almost to disappear below the desk. "Who cares whether the old bat is a spider or a cockroach or something? She's not worth all this drudgery, anyway. AND there's that potions essay we have to do for the greasy git, remember?"

"Honestly, Ron,-" Hermione rolled her eyes but did not continue the sentence. "Now, let's just see what Gideon Gargantua has to say about this…"

But Gideon Gargantua, although very eloquent about the subtleties of the Animagus transformation from the Animagus' point of view, did not offer anything in the way of information they were looking for, nor did Esmeralda Everglade or Yorick Ysopius, and, apart from Hermione's, everybody's enthusiasm was rapidly approaching zero.

"Just one more!" Hermione said, regarding the drooping heads scornfully.

_Checking on Cheaters by Athena Anagramma _was the latest in the row of books to be put down on their desk, and – again, except for Hermione – nobody looked at it with anything else but boredom.

"I'm hungry," Ron observed, but quickly subsided at the glare Hermione gave him, as she was running down her finger along the table of contents.

"587…" she muttered to herself and started flipping the pages.

"Uncovering disguises…" she read aloud, "Is an essential skill in the defence against the dark arts… I think we have something here!"

"Thank Merlin," a low mutter came from Ron. Aloud he said, "Look, so we've found it, CAN we go for dinner now? I'm starving!"

"ONE minute," Hermione sighed. Then she took a piece of parchment from her book bag, and put it on top of the open page.

"Facsimulacrum!" she said, waving her wand nonchalantly.

"What?"

"A nice little copying spell," she said, trying – rather unsuccessfully – not to look smug. "It would be too much bother to do it all by hand, wouldn't it?" She stuffed the parchment into her bag and slammed the book shut.

"And no, I won't let you do that with our homework," she added, glaring at the two boys. "Now let's go, before we have some fatal cases of food deprivation here."

Xxx

The next couple of days, under Hermione's relentless command, they practised. Soon, it became quite clear that Ron's talent at the more complicated sort of spell was less than limited, and after three rather fruitless evenings of practise, he was excused from further attempts. Harry, though more willing to try, also found it quite difficult to remember the precise combination of the words and the required complicated wand movements.

"Formam obscuram –" he started once again, only for Hermione to interrupt him:

"Fòrm obscùram," she corrected, sounding somewhat exasperated. "AND you got the stress wrong again: it's supposed to be dactylic with ellipses and …"

"Ah, forget it," Harry said irritably, putting his wand away in his pocket. "What's the point, anyway? It's not as if I'd walk up to some death eater and ask them politely to please keep still until I have finished… Give me some good straightforward duelling all the time! I'll gladly leave the subtle approach to you girls. I'll be off for a game of chess with Ron, you just go ahead with it."

"Well, this leaves the two of us, doesn't it?" Hermione said to Fleur. "Boys! No patience, always rushing straight for it, and immediately frustrated when things don't go their way. So, where did we leave of? Give it another try, Fleur, will you?"

Xxx

Towards the end of the week, Hermione was satisfied with Fleur's and her own achievement.

"But how to try it out?" she said Friday evening when the four of them were sitting together in the great hall again.

"We cannot just march up to her and shout the spell into her face, can we?" Ron said, remarkably reasonably. "Not in the castle, either."

"We don't even know if it will work, do we?" Fleur added. "The book doesn't even say what exactly happens when you say the spell."

"There's only one way to find out, I guess," Harry said dryly. "Now unless you want to try it on McGonagall-"

Hermione shuddered.

"I thought so," he grinned. "And as you can't walk up to random people whom you suspect of being Animagi, this leaves you right where we started this discussion. So, how do we do it?"

"Well, you can keep an eye on that magic map," Fleur suggested. "It will at least show us where to find her."

"And then you'll sneak up behind her and cast the spell!" Ron exclaimed excitedly.

"And get us in detention for the rest of the school year!" Hermione's voice was shrill.

"Ron and me, we could distract her…" Harry said slowly."

"And get YOU in detention for the rest of the year?" Fleur smiled. "No, I'd miss you too much…"

"We need some disguise."

"You're all daft," Harry interrupted, regarding Hermione with some satisfaction. "You'll take the cloak, of course."

Saturday morning found the four of them gathered in the great hall again, studying the Marauder's map. As usually on Saturday mornings, the hall was more or less deserted, as it was rather early for a free day, and so Fleur was sitting at the Gryffindor table with the others. The invisibility cloak was on the bench between her and Hermione, neatly folded and looking quite inconspicuous.

"She's still in her office," Harry said, pointing at the tiny dot.

"Probably still snoring," Ron added, stifling a yawn, which caused Hermione to roll her eyes.

They started on their breakfast now and then checking the map.

"She's left her room!" Ron said suddenly. "Now, where is she? Ah, she's heading outside – towards the lake…"

Hermione looked at Fleur, who nodded and grabbed the cloak.

"What are we waiting for? Quick, before she disappears!"

The two girls rose and quickly walked out the door.

Ron gaped after them.

"Well, there's still some of that bacon…"

When Fleur and Hermione stormed out of the gates, they could just see the bulky form of their prey disappear behind a couple of bushes along the path towards the forest.

"Shall we take the cloak?" Hermione asked, but Fleur shook her head.

"Too difficult; we need to hurry."

So they sped along the path as fast as they could, and when they rounded the bushes they saw Umbridge all right, and only a couple of yards ahead.

"Now!" Fleur whispered and they pulled the cloak over their heads and crept on silently.

The object of their desire stopped and looked around in a suspicious, secretive manner.

"Let's see what she's up to!" Hermione suggested.

The plump woman looked around once again, then pulled a piece of parchment out of her robes. She reached into them again and produced green bottle with a rather wide neck. They saw her touch it with her wand and mutter – obviously a spell. Then she put the parchment in the bottle and deposited it in a thick tuft of grass.

"I'm sure this is nothing good," said Fleur. "Let's stop her."

"Right," Hermione responded grimly.

Together they levelled their wands and intoned the spell.

There was a flash of white, and a rather large greyish toad was sitting next to the bottle, its huge bulging eyes bearing a distinctly bewildered look – as far as such a thing is possible for a toad.

"Stupefy!" Fleur shouted, just as the toad was trying to disappear in the grass. "Would not be a good thing if she turned back too soon," she added.

"Good thinking," Hermione said appreciatively. "And we'd better keep under the cloak too. Let's see about that bottle."

"Careful, it might be anything. Accio parchment!"

The scroll sailed dutifully into her outstretched hand and she opened it.

_Dear Minister_

_I have finally thought of a safe way to communicate with you. This Reversed Portkey should work well enough._

"Reversed Portkey?" Hermione said thoughtfully. "I'll have to look that up…"

_Much as I regret to say it, I have not been successful in my main task. The Woods woman's identity is still a mystery. _

"So that's what she's after!" Fleur whispered, earning a strange look from Hermione.

_None of the staff can or will give me any information about her. However, I can already say that her teaching is certainly not in accordance with the ministry's ideas of education. _

"And a very good thing it isn't!" Hermione said hotly. "She's good – as good as Lupin, perhaps even better…"

Fleur smiled but said nothing.

_In direct contradiction to guidelines, she not only spends most of her lessons on practical training of spellwork, disregarding theory almost completely, but she also actually encourages an aggressive trend among students that will sooner or later lead to dangerous situations, putting students' lives and health in peril. She has, together with Flitwick, revived the duelling practice that the ministry has frequently disapproved of, and, even more irresponsibly, introduced something she calls intercurricular teaching, where she and Flitwick demonstrate hexing and counter-hexing by duelling themselves. I am quite sure the ministry will heavily disapprove of this sort of thing, and expect your orders how to proceed in this matter. I could imagine this grave disregard of the ministry's educational policy might be sufficient reason to consider her removal from office. And I don't need to stress again that I am still prepared to take over the position should the ministry need my services. _

"Ah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Hermione growled. "Just wait…"

_All this notwithstanding, I will still do what I can to uncover the woman's identity._

_Apart from this my main task, I can report something else that will, I am sure, be of interest to you, dear minister:_

_You know we share this deep mistrust of crossbreeds, -_

Here, Fleur stiffened with anger.

_- and I have to report that the headmaster for reasons I cannot imagine and that he won't divulge to me, has accepted into the school that French Veela girl that was the Beauxbatons champion at the Tournament. (I believe you had an encounter with her last term.) Now I am aware of the fact that unfortunately the Wizengamot refuses to pass according laws, but I really don't see why we should put up with this sort of thing. What's next? Half-banshees? _

_In addition, that girl seems to be in a relationship with Potter, and both of them, having been in the Tournament together, constantly claim that the rumour about You-know-who is true, thus permanently undermining the ministry's authority. Something, I may add, the staff not only tolerate but actually encourage._

_However, by lucky chance, I have been able to make an important discovery about the Veela:_

_She is an Animagus!_

Here, Hermione looked at Fleur with surprise.

_Now I cannot at the moment say what French legislation concerning Animagi is, but I am sure they have to be registered. Somehow I have a suspicion that that girl is not registered, which could be a convenient tool for getting rid of her and her annoying presence. I have noticed how she distracts the male students from their work, which she most certainly enjoys. So I advise the ministry to look into this and take the appropriate measures and, eventually get rid of this annoying person and her detrimental influence. It would be expedient to securing an atmosphere of stability and reliability, which, at the moment, I am afraid is not noticeable in this school._

_I am awaiting your instructions eagerly, dear minister, and remain, assuring you once again of my thorough devotion to the ministry's service,_

_D.U._

"Yuk," said Hermione, when she had finished. "How anyone can read this without being sick is beyond me. But, dear Dolores," she added, addressing the still stupefied toad, "I', afraid that, through some unfortunate circumstances, this letter will never reach its recipient."

And, very carefully and deliberately, she tore up the parchment into very small piece that she scattered in the grass.

"But what shall we do?" Fleur, rather sensibly, asked. "When she gets back to her normal form, what's to stop her from just writing the letter again?"

"Well-" Hermione began, and stopped, realising that she had not, for once, given the matter sufficient thought. "I suppose you – you can't modify her memory, can you?"

"Unfortunately, no. It's Auror stuff, or so gra- I mean, Professor Woods says, strictly forbidden to be taught in school. And even if I had an idea how to do it, I believe it wouldn't last…"

"Then, I'm afraid we'll-"

But she never came to finish her sentence. There was a sudden flurry of white wings, a shriek and a croak that broke off quite abruptly, and the toad was carried away in the talons of a large white owl.

"What was that?"

The two girls looked at each other, stunned.

"I suppose that was the last we'll ever see of the High Inquisitor," Fleur said when she had recovered from her shock. "Not that I'll miss her much, to be honest," she added with some satisfaction.

"But isn't it unusual for owls to be flying about at this time of day?" mused Hermione. "It looked like – hmm, VERY much like – Hedwig, right?"

"Probably. But don't most owls look more or less the same. And everything went so fast, I don't think we can really be sure."

"Well, not that it will matter much, I believe…"

Xxx

"Brr!" Professor Woods collapsed in the chair in Dumbledore's office, shaking herself. "Tastes as evil as her personality was. Do you mind?"

And she helped herself to the large crystal decanter on the table in front of her and poured herself a glass.

"Cheers," she said, grinning widely. "To a job well done."

"You know that, officially speaking, I could never approve of all this, of course," Dumbledore said, trying to look severe, but the twinkle in his eyes giving him away. "But unfortunately, it seems that some unknown danger lurks somewhere in the castle grounds. Just think of poor Mr Crouch who so mysteriously disappeared not such a long time ago. I expect there will have to be an inquiry… But tell me one thing: With that remarkable ability of yours, why didn't you just do it on your own? Why involve the students?"

"She was too careful." McGonagall said. "None of us teachers could have come near her without her noticing. She didn't trust any of us and kept herself protected quite well. Of course she was too sure of herself to include students in her protective charms. And I must say I quite enjoyed watching their academic endeavours to find out about that revealing charm…"

"_Athena Anagramma_ – a nice pen name, Minerva. Even gives the attentive reader a hint at the author's real name… and an impressive piece of magic how you got them monitored through this crystal ball-"

He tapped the object on the table with a long finger.

"The only sensible use of crystal balls, if you ask me," Minerva muttered, trying to look modest but sounding distinctly pleased with the headmaster's praise. "Well, good riddance is what _I_ say… Even _if_ I would not have minded to find out about your identity, Professor," she added towards Woods.

"Call me Vivian, please," the latter replied sweetly.

A/N: I do have the feeling Dumbledore and Minerva are slightly OOC here, but I just was so annoyed with the toad I wanted to get rid of her as fast as possible. Tell me what you think of it. Also, here are two questions for you: What is the hint in Minerva's pen name? And where do we find a character called Anagramma (in all aspects VERY different from Minerva, of course!)?


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: **I guess you'll be used to those delays by now, so I'll not mention it any more. Thanks to all the great reviewers, especially **Locathah **and **BAGGE, **who pointed out that really awful flaw. I should have thought twice about that, and I hope I have found a way to patch it up. It's always this sort of comment that is so very important for a writer, so keep them coming, everyoneAnd sorry about those twenty bucks, **dungeonfire4**!

**Chapter 24**

Fleur and Hermione were walking back towards the castle. Suddenly Fleur stopped in her tracks.

"Owls – owls EAT toads, don't they?" she said, her eyes wide and horrified.

"I expect so," Hermione replied. "Why- oh!"

"Yes, it's almost as if we killed her… No, we couldn't have done anything, it was all so fast… But I wonder where that owl appeared from all of a sudden, and in broad daylight…"

"Do you think there was something going on we did not realise?"

"Most likely. I do hope there was. I couldn't stand her any more than you could, but I'd hate to think we were responsible for her – death."

"Well, I guess we'll never know, so we'll just have to live with it."

When they entered the castle, they found a very bewildered Neville Longbottom crouched on the steps to the first floor.

"What is it, Neville?" Hermione, glad to have something else to think of, inquired.

"I don't understand it," he muttered more to himself. "Look!"

And he stood, showing them his hands. In each he was holding, or rather trying to hold, a large toad.

"Trevor has found himself a friend," Neville said, the amazement in his voice obvious.

Speechless, Hermione bent down to examine the animals.

"I recognise Trevor," she said, pointing at one of them. "But the other one- let me have a closer look…"

She took the struggling creature from Neville and held it up to Fleur for inspection.

"It's not a normal toad," Neville said nervously. "It's a German Exploding Toad, a very rare magical species…"

Hermione was not listening.

"Do you think it could be…?" she said to Fleur, breathlessly. "I don't believe it… Look!"

She pointed at a bow-shaped mark on the creature's head, whose light bluish hue stood out clearly from the dark olive skin.

"She WAS wearing a blue ribbon in her hair," Fleur said after a pause. "And you really believe- Yes, I think it might very well be…How-"

"Where did you find her – I mean, it, Neville?" practically-minded Hermione asked, handing the animal back to him.

Neville, who, quite understandably, had no idea what the girls were talking about, gaped at her.

"Trevor led me to – why do you think it's a _her_?"

"Erm – I don't know, it just slipped out like that. Are you going to keep - it?"

"Yes, of course. Trevor has been rather lonely these years, I'm sure. He'll be happy to have a friend, won't you Trevor?"

And he stalked away slowly, muttering to the two animals in his hands.

"There is definitely something VERY strange about all this," said Hermione to Fleur. "I wonder if we'll ever find out."

"But I'm rather glad she seems to be alive," Fleur mused. _And I have an idea who I could ask about all this,_ she said to herself, as she took leave from Hermione to walk over to the Ravenclaw tower.

Xxx

After lunch, Fleur dodged Harry and Ron, trusting that Hermione would fill them in concerning the morning's events, and made her way towards Professor Woods' office. Even before she knocked, the door opened.

The professor was sitting in one of the large leather armchairs and smiled at her widely.

"Sit down ma chere, it's always nice to see you have not forgotten your poor old grandmother." The tone of her voice was distinctly smug.

"What happened?" Fleur inquired brusquely. "It was you, wasn't it?"

"Whatever do you mean, dear?"

"So it really was you! I know that sort of smile! What were you up to? Just tell me already!"

"I'm proud of you, dear," Vivienne said, her voice very different now. "I knew you'd come to the right conclusion, but this was really pretty fast. Yes, we thought we ought to do something about dear Dolores…"

"We?"

"Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and myself. She really was nosing around too much."

"You mean, you had it all planned?"

"Indeed. You didn't think it was a coincidence you could overhear the hint about the Animagus revealing spell?"

"You – you manipulated us!"

" You performed exactly according to plan… And today the only thing was for me to follow you and act in the right moment."

"But what did you DO? We thought she- she'd been-"

"Eaten? No, not my taste at all, not even in my bird form. Had to tweak some sense into her fat toady head alright, which left me with that foul taste in my mouth for hours, but eat her? Brr! Certainly not!"

"That's a relief. So what have you done to her? Why isn't she back to normal? Not that she doesn't look much nicer in her new form…"

"Not such a very great improvement, if you ask me. We put that spell on her that keeps her in her Animagus form until Mayday Eve, the Beltaine festival. Dumbledore says he has never heard of any counter spell to that one, and if he says that, then there certainly isn't. So dear Dolores will remain in her new and improved version until then. After that we'll decide what to do about her. Who knows, she may turn out a reformed toad after that?"

"Oh, Grandma! I don't know what to say. It's a mean trick, to be sure, but so very clever! And to think that she was just going to send her report to the Minister! And, imagine, she had found out about me turning into an owl!"

"More's the blessing that she just got stopped in time. There would have been no end of it all. But tell me, what else was in that letter which you so expertly destroyed?"

Xxx

"What kind did you say it is, Neville?"

Hermione, who was still confused about the sudden reappearance of what, by now, she more or less was convinced was Dolores Umbridge, asked.

"A German Exploding Toad," Neville said absently, looking at the two animals fondly. "I've told you already, haven't I?"

He had, with Hermione's help, conjured a spacious cage, in which Trevor and his new companion were now sitting, Trevor himself looking quite stolid, while the newcomer was rather restless, frequently attempting to escape. This was, by the way, one of the reasons why Hermione had been quite eager to help with the creation of the cage.

"I know you have," Hermione said impatiently. "I mean, what's so special about them? Why are they called _exploding_?"

"Oh. Well, they don't actually _explode_, of course. What they do is they can swell to twice their size when threatened, and then blast forth some poisonous mucus from their mouth. Said to be pretty painful if it gets in your eyes…"

"Well, then you'd better be careful with this one," Harry said. "How do you know it's one of those?"

"It's that mark on the head," Neville said eagerly. "Look, it's very much like a blue bow, like some girls wear in their hair… I looked it up in my book, and it says it's kind of reddish for the males, and bluish with the females. So you were quite right, Hermione. How did you know?"

"Ah well, it was just a feeling…" she said vaguely, not really eager to discuss the point. Luckily, Neville was so accustomed to her knowing more or less everything that he didn't pursue the matter.

"Well, just see to it that it – she – doesn't do that exploding stunt in the dorm, will you?" Seamus said with a grin. "And who knows, perhaps there'll be a bunch of new little toads soon?"

Neville turned red, but said bravely,

"They'd need the appropriate habitat for the spawn to hatch… Do you really think…?"

"It's what toads DO, I believe," Seamus said his grin even wider now, "I mean, what else COULD they do to pass the time? And I think old Trevor has some catching up to do after all those years…"

The whole common room broke into guffaws, and poor Neville turned an even deeper shade of red.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered, "Just imagine…"

"Yep," said Ron, chuckling. "Trevor will be the first guy to look at her twice… Do you know, this could actually be FUN for ol' Dolly…"

At which Hermione shook her head with disgust and climbed the stairs towards the girls' dormitory.

Xxx

Even though she was almost bursting, Fleur refrained from telling anybody in Ravenclaw about the day's events, although she found it quite hard not to give herself away when someone happened to remark on Umbridge's disappearance.

It was not very long however, before the speculations and rumours died down, as nobody felt they missed the High Inquisitor much.

As the days passed, the amount of schoolwork kept steadily increasing, so that, during the week, Fleur had hardly any opportunity of meeting up with Harry, except at mealtimes, when they usually found the time for a couple of quick kisses and hugs.

In addition to schoolwork, Roger Davies insisted on three practice sessions a week, and Fleur had to admit that the team needed it badly. Sometimes it seemed that Roger, Cho and herself were the only ones that could steer a broom, while the hapless third- and fourth-years more often than not had narrow escapes from crashing into the ground, or into each other.

"This is going to be a disaster," Cho said after another particularly ill-fated afternoon.

"Indeed," Roger nodded wearily. "They'll need a couple of weeks just to master their brooms sufficiently, and then we haven't been doing any tactics yet, either!"

"I'm sure they are doing whatever they can," Fleur tried to calm them down. "They will just have to take their time… When is the first game, did you say?"

"It's not fixed yet," Roger said. "But it's usually at Halloween, or around that time. Good thing it's Gryffindor-Slytherin. Gives us some time to get some team together – even if it's only a couple of weeks," he finished darkly.

"Well, we'll just have to do our best, I suppose," Cho mused. "And, looking at the bright side, everybody will be somewhat out of training after last year, don't you think? But I won't deny it would be great if we could take that cup from the Gryffindors, wouldn't it?"

Roger grumbled something that sounded very much like "Bloody likely!" and stomped off.

"He's taking it all far too seriously," Fleur grinned. "Just as I've always said – it's a game, for Merlin's sake!"

But Cho did not seem to be convinced at all. Suddenly she grabbed Fleur's arm.

"Are you good with kids?"

"What?"

"I mean – do you think you could teach those poor sods how to stay on their brooms? You have a baby sister, haven't you?"

"Indeed I have," Fleur replied, smiling fondly. "And she would hex your nose off if she heard you – baby sister! But, well, I suppose it's not such a bad idea. Roger's pedagogic methods don't go much beyond yelling, that's true. Scares them, more likely, instead of encouraging them. But you've got to help me with that, understood?"

"Of course. So, let's tell Roger about this, shall we?"

"Yes, let's. I hope he won't be fed up with the idea."

"Why should he?"

"I don't know, perhaps he'll be jealous, or something."

"Don't be ridiculous. AND it will do his blood pressure good, too…"

As it turned out, Roger Davies was rather relieved when they told him of their plan.

"I couldn't have stood those miserable blighters much longer," he grumbled. "See what you can do with the lot, and let's just hope we'll play Hufflepuff first, as usual, not Gryffindor – or Slytherin, for that matter."

Xxx

"I thought you hated this kind of sport?" Harry smirked when Fleur told him about their newest project. "And now you start poisoning innocent minds yourself!"

"Stop grinning!" she said and slapped his arm lightly. "I'm just doing those poor kids a favour. Roger tends to bite people's heads off when things don't go his way, you know. Not your pedagogical genius… Can't take no for an answer…"

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Harry told her. "And I'll be happy to help you out if you need any advice or assistance, of course."

Which, although Ron muttered something that sounded very much like _fraternising with the enemy,_ earned him a number of enthusiastic kisses from Ravenclaw's prospective junior trainer.

Xxx

Somewhat to the surprise of the students, the next weekend was announced to be a general Hogsmeade weekend. ("I know it's usually in October only," Dumbledore had said, "but it would be a shame not to take advantage of the fine weather.")

"At last we can go there officially," Harry told Fleur. "That is, unless you have anything better to do, that is," he went on.

"There is hardly anything I'd like better," she responded. My friends are dying to meet you, too."

So, on Saturday afternoon, they departed to the village, accompanied by Ron and Hermione.

"Can't wait to get my hands on those sweets," Ron remarked gleefully, as they set out for the walk along the lakeshore, which made Hermione frown slightly.

"Well, I guess a man's got to do what a man's got to do," she said with a resigned sigh. "As long as you don't expect me to go with you…"

"Oh, I'll just fetch you from the bookstore, shall I?" Ron replied cheerfully. "Someone WILL have to tear you away from those books, don't you think?"

"I don't think I'll go to the bookstore-"

Ron stopped dead in his tracks.

"You what?"

"You heard me," she said smugly. "I think I'll have a look at that new French fashion store. Fleur tells me her friends have done wonders to miserable old Gladrags…"

Ron gaped at her open-mouthed.

"Who are you, and what have you done to Hermione?"

"Can't a girl do something for herself once in a while?" she huffed. "I AM a girl, in case you still haven't noticed… Anyway, my parents have sent me some birthday money, and I intend to make good use of it."

Ron gulped and it seemed to Fleur he went rather pale, but he did not say anything, he just marched on in long strides.

When they reached the village, Ron took Harry aside and whispered urgently to him. Harry patted him on the back in a reassuring manner.

"You girls just go ahead to that fashion store," he said. "We'll just drop in at Honeyduke's and will join you afterwards. Rags always bore us to death, you know…"

And he and Ron, quite hastily, or so it appeared to Fleur, disappeared in the direction of said shop.

"Looks fishy to me," Hermione said thoughtfully, looking after them, "don't you agree?"

"Definitely. They are up to something. What can it be?"

A huge grin spread over Hermione's face.

"Actually, I have a very clear idea-"

"What is it?"

"I'm not telling you… Of course, I could be mistaken, but… Just wait…"

And the two of them walked over to the fashion store.

As it was a regular Hogsmeade weekend, there was quite a crowd in the store, as everyone wanted to see how boring old Gladrags had changed almost overnight. Therefore, Margaux and Iphigenie were extremely busy with all the customers and could not spare much time on their friend.

"I'm sorry, cherie," Iphigenie panted carrying a large stack of blouses towards on of the shelves. "Busy day today… Talk to you later."

"Wait a second," Fleur told her, grabbing her by the arm. "I'm not just here for a chat; my friend here wants a couple of things, can you help her?"

Iphigenie dumped her burden on the counter.

"Be with you in a minute," she said, eyeing Hermione critically. Why don't you just look around for a bit?"

In due course, Hermione found herself submerged in various textile creations, and Fleur could not help smiling as her usually detached and rational friend delightedly tried on one colourful item after the other.

"She really needs some help with her outfit," Iphigenie had whispered. "There is a kind of natural beauty in her that just takes some assistance getting out."

Fleur, remembering the Yule Ball, agreed. "It's just that she's never thought it was important, I believe. A bit surprising to me, too, that she should suddenly feel otherwise. I wonder why."

Presently, Hermione, expertly assisted by Iphigenie, had found exactly the things she wanted to spend her money on.

"I'll just keep these on," she said happily, turning in front of the huge mirror.

"You look fantastic ma'am," the mirror intoned in a sonorous voice.

"Oh shut up, you," she said irritably, "and don't think I'm falling for that Bruce Willis voice, either!"

"Bruce Willis?" Fleur inquired.

"Some muggle actor. – NOT my type, I'll have you know," she addressed the mirror, which made an indistinct noise, clearly indicating it was sulking.

"Well, I believe we should go and meet up with the boys," Hermione said after she had handed over her Galleons to Margaux at the counter. "I can't wait to see their faces…"

"Yes, let's," Fleur agreed. "Do you think you'll be able to join us within the next half hour or so?" she asked her two friends.

"Hm, it seems business is slowing down already, so I we might manage… And of course, we are just dying to meet Harry…"

A/N: Well, my friends, any guesses about Ron's strange behaviour?


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

"Her birthday!" Ron croaked, as soon as the girls were out of earshot. "Why do I have to keep forgetting her blasted birthday again and again? I forgot last year, and the year before, and if I do it again… That's girls for you! If I forgot your bloody birthday, would you fuss, Harry? See what I mean?"

"Well, no harm done, is there?" Harry said, trying hard to keep the amusement out of his voice. "You know what? I think she gave you that reminder quite deliberately."

"You think so?" Ron went slightly redder than he already was.

"Well, she IS rather smart, isn't she? And that way she has saved you some embarrassment, too… Anyway, let's go and see what you can get her."

"What I can- hey, wait a mo, do you mean YOU have already got her something? AND never told me?"

Now it was Harry's time to turn red.

"Well, actually, I have. There was that book on modern spellwork she mentioned some time last year; so I got it for her first thing I had a chance. And I completely forgot about it all until she mentioned it right now – I'm sorry."

"And you'd happily have let her chew my head off, and basked in your own glory. Some friend," Ron huffed, but he went on, "well, whatever. The point is – what can I get her? Not a book, obviously, so…"

So, together they set out along the High Street, looking at the various shop windows.

"This one looks promising," Ron said presently, pointing at a bright red shop front with a sign in golden letters above it saying_ Grit Garlick's Gifts_. In the window, there was a wide range of bracelets, brooches, and other ornaments, together with a row of extravagantly shaped crystal bottles with colourful labels. "I don't think I've ever noticed it before."

As he had never before felt the need to look for presents of the sort he wanted now, it was no surprise he had never taken notice of a shop like that, even if he had walked past it every single day of his life – which he hadn't.

The inside of the shop was dark and their eyes needed several minutes to get accustomed to the gloom. There were high shelves filled with boxes that seemed to disappear into musty distances. Slightly dusty glass cases contained various assorted items of jewellery.

"And now what?" Ron said, whispering without realising it. "There's hundreds of things… And how do I know what I can afford?"

"Keep cool," Harry told him, suppressing s grin with difficulty. "First – WHAT do you want to get her?"

"I've no idea, really," Ron replied, sounding so wretched that Harry felt sorry for him. "I can't give her a book, can I, now that you are already giving her one; besides, I'd probably get her one she's had for ages already. Would be just my luck", he finished darkly.

"How about some jewellery? There's lots of the stuff here."

"Probably couldn't afford it…"

"You are certainly not making things any easier," Harry said, beginning to feel exasperated.

"Wait a minute-", Ron, who had picked up a small crystal bottle from a low shelf, said. "This thing can't cost the world, can it? Looks nice, too. What do you guess it is?"

Harry, who had seen generations of similar bottles (only, as a rule, a lot uglier) come and go on Aunt Petunia's dresser, recognised it at once.

"Perfume," he said. "Though I wouldn't bet on it being too cheap… But no harm in asking, is there?"

As if on cue, an elderly witch suddenly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Can I help you?" Her voice was slightly rasping, and her eyes seemed huge behind large glasses.

"Erm – yes – how much would this perfume be?" Ron stammered, handing the bottle to her.

"For the sweetheart, eh?"

Ron blushed furiously, clinging to the small bottle as if he expected it to give him strength.

"But why so hasty?" the old witch continued. "We have many different scents, you should make sure what you get is the right one for her. Here, let me show you…"

With a wave of her wand, a number of vials appeared on the counter, shining in various colours. Ron shot Harry a helpless look, but Harry just shrugged.

"Sorry, mate," he said. "I don't think I can help you with this one. I have no more idea about girls and perfumes than you have. I think I'll just have a look around while you make your choice."

And he wandered off among the shelves, leaving Ron to his fate.

Some clever magic caused a beam of light to move along with him, conveniently illuminating the objects to his right and left: rings, necklaces, brooches, and other various pieces of jewellery glittered in the bright sport of light and fell back into the shadows when he passed them.

A blue glittering object caught his eye, and he stopped to look at it. On a white satin cushion sat a ring, a ring of blinding white with a large blue stone. Now that he was looking at it more closely, he understood why it had arrested his attention.

"It's exactly like her eyes!" he said to himself.

And indeed the stone seemed to be alive, its hues kept oscillating from a dark, almost black, tone to a very light shade of blue like a summer's sky. Harry reached out slowly, fascinated, and took the ring from its cushion.

"And it's silver like her hair!"

He couldn't be sure, but he believed he felt the ring vibrate slightly in his fingers, and it was distinctly warm to his touch. Somehow he felt suddenly sure: He just HAD to give her this ring!

When he returned to the counter, Ron had already made his choice.

"Here, Harry," he said, holding up a small vial. "What do you think? Want to smell it?"

"Seems fine enough to me," Harry said rather absently, taking a sniff, but not really registering much. "I told you I have no idea of this sort of thing…."

"Much help you are," Ron grumbled, shoving a couple of coins over the counter. "Can you wrap it for me?" he asked the witch, who complied to his wish with a few elaborate waves of her wand.

"Wow!" said Ron, impressed. "I wouldn't mind to learn that one!"

He pocketed his purchase and turned towards the door.

"Let's go! I feel I deserve some butterbeer!"

"Wait a moment," Harry said and put the ring on the counter. Ron turned and his eyes widened.

"Wow! What's that?"

"Thought I might just as well see if I find something for Fleur, see?" Harry said defensively in spite of himself. "Merlin knows when there will be the next Hogsmeade weekend."

"This baby will cost you a fortune; but then – you are stuffed, aren't you? And I'm sure she's worth it, too."

Harry chose to ignore the note of envy in Ron's voice. "How much would you want for this?" he inquired of the witch.

"A really beautiful ornament, if I may say so," she said. "It will make a beautiful gift for a beautiful young lady, will it not?"

"Erm – does it – does it have any special magical qualities?"

"None that I know of; just an especially beautiful specimen of a moonstone, is all."

"So – how much is it, then?"

"As I said, it's exceptionally fine, so-"

"How much?"  
"We are a bit impatient, aren't we? But I like eagerness in young people… So I'll let you have it for… let's say… 75 galleons?"

There was a sharp intake of breath from Ron, but Harry ignored it.

"Not exactly cheap," he said quietly. "But I expect it's worth it. Luckily, I have all my term's money with me."

And he took out a leather pouch and started to count out the gold coins.

"You won't regret it, believe me," the witch said as she put the ring carefully in a small satin lined box and waved her wand to wrap it.

"Man," said Ron in an awed voice as they left the shop. "Seventy-five! That's more than my allowance for the school year! I knew you were rolling in it, but I had no idea…She'd better appreciate it, is all I can say."

To which Harry, who felt rather embarrassed at this obvious display of envy, could not utter more than an indistinct noise that he hoped sounded deprecating.

In a somewhat tense silence they made their way to the pub.

As usual at a Hogsmeade weekend, the Three Broomsticks was packed with students. Therefore, it was not so easy for Fleur and Hermione to spot the two boys, whom they eventually found in one of the alcoves in the background.

"Helloo!"

Ron had jumped up waving his arms at them.

"What-" he began, but when he got a better view of Hermione he stopped and gaped at her.

"Eyes as big as saucers-" Hermione remarked in a satisfied tone, turning around once and giving him a wide grin. "Does that mean you like what you see?"

"Ah – erm – eh…"

"Better than any Confundus Charm could ever work," Fleur said dryly, causing Harry to snigger.

And indeed, Hermione, or, perhaps, Margaux and Iphigenie, had effected a rather substantial change in her appearance. Her light yellow silk blouse, which shimmered with a lustre only wizarding haute-couture can achieve, set off the colour of her hair in a lovely way, and although even prim and proper McGonagall could not have found fault with the cut of its neckline, it was close-cut enough to accentuate the fact that Hermione was, indeed, a girl. The wide, flouncy skirt was white with a pattern of large red flowers, and was just so much shorter than the regulation school skirt as to leave no doubt about that fact. When she turned, it had a tendency to spread out around her so that the hemline rose a tiny bit higher still in the process. Probably this was the main reason for Ron's present verbosity or rather lack thereof.

It was Harry, who, by a well placed push with his elbow, bought him back to his senses.

"Erm – you look – er – great!" he managed to say at last, his eyes still wide.

With a look that, on anyone else, would have been smug, Hermione sat down next to him. When a silence started to set on them, Harry gave Ron another push.

"What?" said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Hermione.

Harry rolled his eyes almost Hermione-like, and at last Ron seemed to get the hint.

"Oh, yes… erm… where is it?-"

"Not your most articulate day today… Are you looking for this?" Harry said, grinning at him and handing him a small parcel wrapped in light blue paper.

Blushing furiously, Ron grabbed the parcel and offered it to Hermione.

"Erm – Happy Birthday!"

"Oh thank you!" She took the present, leaned over to him and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "See?" she said, turning to Fleur, "I was right after all. Now, let's see…"

She started unwrapping the parcel. A small purple crystal bottle soon shone in the light.

"I- I couldn't think of a book you might want," Ron stammered, his face crimson again. "And- Harry had already got you one, too… so I thought, perhaps you'd like this…"

"A pretty little flagon," Hermione said, sounding puzzled.

"It's perfume," Ron blurted out. "Smell it, will you?" He added in a pleading tone.

"Oh, all right," she said giving him a rather indulgent smile. "If you insist…"

She took off the stopper and sniffed.

"Hmm, it's- rather- unusual…" she said, putting the vial on the table, and an observant eye might have noticed her smile was slightly forced.

"Thank you, Ron. It's really thoughtful of you! And there was silly me thinking you'd forgotten again…"

Before Ron could answer, Margaux and Iphigenie came up to their table, and she stowed the vial away in her bag.

"Ah, _Le Garcon qui vive!"_ Margaux said, beaming at Harry and shaking his hand heartily. "I'm so excited to meet you again, 'Arry. Fleur 'ere 'as told us what 'appened at the last task. So you've defeated _Vous-savez-qui_ another time, 'aven't you?"

Harry's face turned hard; the last thing he wanted to be reminded of was Voldemort and the horrible events of the third task.

"He does look nice," Margaux, oblivious to Harry's mood, went on to Fleur in French. "Good choice, Fleur."

"I'm not sure there was much of a choice involved," Fleur muttered, embarrassed.

"Indeed," Iphigenie added, "if it wasn't for you, cherie-" and she squeezed Margaux' arm affectionately, "I don't know…"

"Ah shut up, both of you," Fleur told them. "And don't goggle at him as if he had two heads or something. I've told you before how he hates all that attention. Sorry about that," she addressed the others in English again. "I must apologize for these two gossiping chatterboxes, Harry, they have just experienced something like a celebrity shock; I hope you don't mind…"

"Well, I suppose it's only to be expected," he replied. "Especially after all the tall stories you'll have told them…" He gave her a smile to show he was joking, but Fleur could not help noticing it was a somewhat strained smile.

But before Fleur could reply, Draco Malfoy, who, unnoticed by them, had approached their table, interjected,

"Mudbloods not enough for you, Potter? Consorting with half-breeds now? Not satisfied with mere humans any more? What's it going to be next? I hear mer-women are especially passionate – in their own way… Why not give them a try some time?"

"Shut up Malfoy," Harry said tiredly, not even looking up. "I'm not in the mood. Why don't you just go away and-"

"And drown yourself in some dung heap or something," Hermione added. "But then, that would be environmental pollution, wouldn't it? Whatever, just stop poisoning the air for decent people…"

"You're just jealous, aren't you?" Fleur said brightly. And she put her arms round Harry and kissed him.

"Mer-people, eh?" Margaux, although she had not understood each single word, had been able to follow the argument easily enough. "I can 'elp you 'ere…"

A wave of her wand and a fast spell later Draco Malfoy looked very different. His skin was a bluish green, with his hair a shade darker, and there were webbed fingers on his hands. And all his clothes had disappeared, and the only garment he was wearing was a short skirt of various shades of green that seemed to consist of various sorts of sea-grass and algae.

A roar of laughter shook the entire pub, and even the Slytherins present could only suppress their hilarity with difficulty.

"Oh, Malfoy, I must say," Harry told him. "What WILL it be next? First a ferret, now a frog? Not really aiming for greatness, are you?"

Speechless with fury and embarrassment, Draco stood rooted to the spot for some time. When he had recovered from his shock, he left hastily, amid the renewed uproar in the pub.

"Awesome!" Ron said staring at Margaux with big eyes. "How did you do that?"

"Oh, just a little spell I learned," she said modestly. "I use it for carnival parties…"

"How will he get back to normal?" Hermione asked. "Not that this new look of his wasn't an improvement…"

"It wears down after three or four hours; and 'e will not be the worse for it."  
"Not he himself, perhaps," Ron said, grinning. "But his reputation…"

"Talking about new looks, though," Iphigenie put in. "What do you think about 'Ermione's? I mean, your first reaction was quite impressive, to be sure, but don't you think you might be a bit more outspoken?"

"_Oui,_" Iphigenie assisted, "girls like being told they look great, you know…"

Ron immediately turned red again, and began to open and close his mouth silently in a fishlike manner.

Hermione, although she silently agreed with the French girls, took pity on him.

"Ah, leave him alone, will you?" she scolded, trying to conceal her merriment. "Ron's just not your great talker. I know what he would say if he could find the words, and I'm happy with that…"

And she planted another kiss on Ron's cheek.


	26. Chapter 26

**AN: Ok, friends and neighbours, time for a little fluff! Hope you enjoy it!**

**Chapter 26 A Birthday Present**

At one of Fleur's next training sessions with the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, a pretty Indian girl with long midnight-black plaits came up to her.

"I- I wonder…" she began haltingly, and went on in a rush, "can I join the team, please?"

Fleur, who had seen the girl at the Ravenclaw table, naturally, but never spoken to her before, was surprised. She seemed to remember her vaguely from last year's Yule Ball, too, but could at the moment not think of anything more substantial.

"We started training some time ago, you know," she replied, her tone reproachful. "Why didn't you take part in the tryouts? And why do you want to join now?"

The girl's dark face seemed to take on additional colour and she looked down, embarrassed.

"Well?"

"Erm- you see – "she stammered. "It's because… because of Ron Weasley…"

"Ron Weasley?" and in a flash Fleur remembered. "Now I know – you went to the ball with him last year, didn't you? But what does it have to do with your sudden wish to play Quidditch? You've never played before, I take it?"

The girl shook her head.

"Then why the sudden interest? Ah, I know! You want to impress him, make him interested in you? Romance in the air?"

The girl's dark eyes suddenly flashed with anger.

"Romance? And with Ron Weasley? Not if him and me were stranded on a lonely island for ever and ever! I hate his guts! No, I want to get him back!"

"Get him back? Why get him back if you hate him?" Fleur asked, once again bewildered by the finer points of the English language.

"No!" the girl almost shrieked. "Get him back, pay him back, see, for the abominable way he treated me at that stupid ball! They have taken him into the Gryffindor team, as keeper, and I thought…"

"I see," Fleur said with a smile. "Let me guess, and now you'd love to become a beater…"

"Exactly," the girl said grimly.

"Well, there is no harm giving you a chance. You have already missed a couple of sessions, but if you train hard and have some talent, there is no reason why you should not become a player. So welcome in the team, er-"

"Padma. Padma Patil."

"Alright, Padma. Grab a broom and let me see what you can do."

"Padma Patil wants to be a Quidditch player?" Cho was surprised when Fleur told her about it at dinner. "I always thought she was only interested in clothes and that getting her hair ruffled was her prime fear and concern. What's the big idea?"

When Fleur told her, Cho's eyes dimmed with tears at the memory of Cedric and the ball, but she smiled bravely.

"Of all the reasons for taking up a sport this is probably the craziest, but I expect, as motivations go, it's rather powerful. And we can really do with some motivated players."

"And from what I've seen, I think she also has some flying talent, so she might turn out a valuable asset to the team," Fleur added.

In due course September became October, the days shorter and chillier, and the piles of homework higher and higher. In the Gryffindor common room, Hermione could be frequently seen with her nose deep in the book Harry had given her for her birthday; she also could be smelled from afar, as she applied Ron's perfume so lavishly, that, alas, it was clear the vial would soon be empty.

"I'll get you some more," Ron would offer, happy that she so obviously liked his choice.

"Oh, no!" Hermione would protest hurriedly, shivering slightly. "There is really no need – you must have spent a fortune on this, anyway; you really need to think of yourself for once."

And Harry would turn away to hide his grin.

Fleur and her room mates got along perfectly amiably, helping each other out with the occasional homework, and practising spells with – and on – each other. Once a week Cho would be allowed to see Cedric, and when she returned, she would always appear unnaturally cheerful, because she had to put a cheering charm on herself to keep from crying. Luna would sometimes come up to Fleur and chat to her, and Fleur had come to like the strange girl a lot.

The lessons in Defence and Charms were frequently combined, and everyone thought it was an immense improvement. They learned about applying and repelling various spells, like the giggling curse, the tearjerker, or the brooding charm, and it was impressive to see that unnatural hilarity could be just as detrimental to someone's state of mind (and, therefore, their actions) as depression and melancholy.

With all the activities going on, Fleur quite forgot that her birthday was coming up, and she never thought of it until, on the thirtieth of October, a beautiful multicoloured bird arrived during morning post distribution, setting down a parcel on the table in front of her.

"It must be from my family," she said, seeing the curious looks of the others. "It's my birthday tomorrow, you see."

"Open it already," Belladonna told her eagerly. "I'm sure it's something wonderful..."

Smiling at the girl, Fleur complied and caused the parcel unfolds with a few words. It contained a silk scarf in the Beauxbatons colours and a small black box.

"Curious," Fleur said, opening the box. It contained what looked like ordinary spectacles. There was a label attached to it:

"Ever-clear spectacles – forget about fog and rain, always see clearly." And below it, in the handwriting of her mother, it said, "I still believe your choice of sports is anything but becoming for a lady, but Delacours always do their best, whatever they do. So use these to be the best seeker Hogwarts has ever seen."

"Amazing," Fleur said, strangely touched, as she handed the note to Cho. "Somehow she seems to return to her old self, but then, she's still very different."

There was another note from Gabrielle with the scarf, saying that she had found it in a small shop in Paris, and had charmed it herself to repel bludgers aimed at her. "To my big sister, who will show everybody that looks are not everything." The animated photograph of Gabrielle said.

"I wonder how she got the idea," Fleur said to herself, wiping at her eyes. "Sometimes she is so much wiser than her age..."

"It's a pity she can't come visit us here," Cho said. "I used to like her a lot."

"Well, I can always ask Mother, I suppose," Fleur responded. "These days she never ceases to amaze me."

"What about Harry, though?" Cho continued. "What will he have got you?"

"Oh, I bet he has forgotten, just like Ron did," Fleur said lightly, although there was a strange feeling inside her. Harry had certainly not shown any sign of thinking about her birthday at all. "You know what boys are like. And, unlike Hermione, I didn't drop a timely reminder."

"Cedric would have remembered..." Cho replied, her eyes darkening.

Next day, though, Harry was waiting in front of the Transfiguration classroom at the end of her afternoon lessons.

"Let's go somewhere quiet where we can talk," he said to her, taking her hand.

"What-"

"Just wait. Now where- yes, why not go up a couple of stairs, it's usually not so crowded there."

Together they walked up and presently found themselves on the top floor.

"Sorry, force of habit," Harry said as they passed the portrait of the fat lady. "We don't want to go in there..."

So they turned the other way and walked away from the Gryffindor Tower entrance. The corridor they entered was completely deserted, and, apart from some pieces of tapestry and the occasional suit of armour, was empty. There didn't even seem to be any doors in the walls. In a muggle building this would have been strange, in Hogwarts, of course, this was perfectly normal, and also could change any moment, just like the arrangement of the staircases. There was an almost tangible silence and the afternoon light that came in through the one window at the end of the corridor was rapidly fading, steeping their surroundings in dusky twilight. The enchanted torches on the walls lit themselves.

"Look," said Harry, taking both her hands awkwardly and blushing. "I-"

He didn't finish his sentence, as in that exact moment a richly carved door suddenly appeared in the formerly bare wall.

"What's this?" Fleur whispered in surprise.

"Dunno," said Harry. In an automatic reflex he had released her hands and whipped out his wand. "But we'll find out..."

The sudden change from his awkwardness to fully alert inquisitiveness impressed Fleur. She also took out her wand. Together they approached the door carefully. When they were just in front of it, it opened noiselessly by itself. The warm glow of candlelight shone out.

"Doesn't look particularly dangerous," Fleur said under her breath.

"No, it doesn't. But we'd better be careful still – after all, this is me you are with..."

Involuntarily Fleur shivered as the meaning of this sank in, and she took his hand without noticing.

"No need to whisper like that, though," Harry told her. "Whatever it is, is clearly expecting us."

Wands at the ready, they stepped through the door. The room they found themselves in was not big; a soft carpet silenced their every step; heavy curtains were drawn against whatever windows there were in the opposite wall; a nice fire was burning in the marble fireplace to their left, with a huge mirror in a gilt frame above it; to their right, more curtains hid the entire wall.

In the centre of the room, a small table had been set for a meal, apparently for two. The white tablecloth was beautifully laid out with various plates and cutlery, warmly lit by a silver candle-holder in the middle, with an arrangement of flowers to complete the picture.

There was no sign of any person in the room.

They lowered their wands and stood there, side by side, at a loss for words. They did not notice the door close silently.

"Exactly like- I must be dreaming!" Harry finally managed to say. "Pinch me, will you?"

Fleur, though, put her arms round him and kissed him tenderly.

"Better than pinching, isn't it?" She said with a smile. "What do you mean? Exactly like what?"

She could not see it in the shine of the candles, but she felt him blush again.

"Like I imagined… like I would have wanted…" he stammered. "Your birthday!" He finally blurted out. "It's exactly how I would have arranged everything for you! I even pictured the flowers exactly like this! And I was so frustrated I could not do this for you. And now it has just – well, materialised… I don't understand it! "

"Oh, Harry!" Fleur sighed, drawing him closer. "You know these things are not important to me. But still… you did not arrange all this, you say?"

"Of course not. Oh, I would have, if I knew how, but…"

There was a loud crack, and Dobby materialised in front of them. He was wearing what looked like a child's version of a waiter's attire, complete with black tailcoat and bowtie. He looked almost dignified in it.

"Welcome, Harry Potter, sir, and Harry Potter's flower," he said, his squeaky voice somewhat spoiling the dignified impression of his outfit.

He bowed low and motioned for them to sit down at the table.

"Dobby?"

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir," the elf said eagerly. "Dobby is looking after Harry Potter and his flower, and Dobby hopes it is being an enjoyable evening."

"But how-"

"The Come and Go Room, sir," Dobby said, as if that explained everything.

"What?"

"The Room of Requirement, the wizards is calling it, sir. This room is appearing, and it is giving you what you have been wanting. Harry Potter must be having strong magic that the Come and Go Room is obeying him."

"Heck, I didn't even know it existed," Harry said, feeling embarrassed at Dobby's praise. „But it seems to be alright…"

"I always knew you were a great wizard," Fleur said affectionately. "This is the most wonderful birthday present anyone has ever given me!"

"But I didn't do anything," Harry protested weakly. "It was just in my imagination…"

"Shh," she said, putting a finger to his lips. "It proves how much you care…"

"Shall we sit down and see what other extraordinary things happen?"

"Yes, let's," she said. "But –"

"But what?"

"Oh, nothing, really; and it can't be helped, anyway..."

"What DO you mean?"

"It's just – it seems a shame to be in these drab and boring school uniforms in this gorgeous room… Now you'll think me awfully vain and superficial, won't you?"

"As if whatever you wear would ever make any difference! But you're right, it IS a bit of a – contrast."

"Harry Potter and his flower are wanting new robes?" Dobby piped in. "Dobby is knowing where to find them."

He led them over to the curtain, which moved aside at a click of his fingers revealing a rack hung with robes in various shapes and colours.

"The Come and Go Room is always knowing what you is wanting," Dobby said proudly.

With a small sound of delight Fleur rushed over to the rack and started to sort through the robes. An assortment of the most marvellous dresses was there at her fingertips. All her dreams of beauty seemed literally to have come true.

"I suppose this is what the room does, making your very dreams come true," she said to herself as she let her hands glide along the shining row of fabrics. At last a silken garment in a deep emerald green caught her attention.

"Just the colour of Harry's eyes," she said as she took it off the hook.

There was a rustle of silk and a whirl of colours which gave her some shock as it came so suddenly, but before she had time to think about it she realised that the dress had somehow replaced her uniform and she was now wearing it as if she had never worn anything else.

In the meantime, Harry had remained standing there, looking at the choice of robes helplessly, until Dobby had presented a white jacket to him, saying,

"Harry Potter should try this, Dobby is thinking it is looking ok."

"Oh well," Harry replied. "I expect it doesn't matter."

He took the jacket from Dobby and it fitted itself on to him at once, which surprised him just like it had Fleur.

Only now did he look over at her, and what he saw quite literally took his breath away. An apparition in emerald green was standing there. The tight fitting bodice of the dress accentuated her graceful figure in all the right places, and he had to tear his eyes away from the low cut neckline with an effort. At the waist the skirt billowed out to end some inches above the knees, thus presenting her long slender legs to much advantage. Her wonderful silver-blond hair sparkled in the light of the chandelier, glittering against the deep green fabric of the dress.

Feeling strangely shy she stepped towards him.

"Harry?"

"What? Er-"

Tenderly she took his face in both her hands, gently forcing him to look into her eyes. "Harry, it's me, just me…"

He shook himself, as if awakening from a trance.

"I'm sorry," he said at last. "Don't know what's come over me; it's just – you never looked that unbelievably gorgeous before…"

Her face clouded.

"Here you go again," she said tonelessly. "I'd better change back into that uniform…"

"No! Please don't!" he took her hands quickly. "I'm so sorry- I know how you feel about his sort of thing, but I just – just can't help it… it's – it's something inside me that I don't seem to be able to control – some – some kind of monster… but – I just love you. And I'll love you no matter what shape or form you are, you know that, don't you?" He finished desperately.

"Oh Harry," Fleur sighed. "Of course I know. And I can imagine about that – monster, you said? - too. You are a teenage boy, after all, and I suppose there are some things that simply come naturally…"

The slightly awkward silence was interrupted by Dobby.

"Will Harry Potter and his flower come to dinner now?"

When they were seated at the table, Dobby, clicking his fingers in various rhythms, served their meal, and for some time they were eating silently, the atmosphere between them again relaxed and amiable. To Fleur's secret delight the house elves had – with a heroic effort, no doubt – conjured a series of dishes that would have found the approval of the most critical French chef. She wondered silently how that had been possible, but decided not to ask. It was probably better just to enjoy what the crazy room would provide and not to destroy the charm with useless questions.

After dessert, Harry started searching in his pockets until he fished out a small parcel wrapped in blue paper.

"Here," he said rather sheepishly, "this is what I wanted to give to you before all this happened. I do hope you like it – if you'll accept a present from a stupid gaping idiot like me, that is."

Fleur unwrapped the present and gasped in delight when she saw the ring.

"Oh Harry! It's beautiful!"

"Not as beautiful -" he stopped, mentally kicking himself. "It reminded me of your eyes," he finished, a bit lamely.

"Oh, come here, you silly boy!"

She got up from her chair, went over and sat down in his lap, throwing her arms round his neck and seeking his lips with hers.

"I – love – you," she muttered between kisses.

"You – too," Harry managed to reply rather breathlessly, holding her tight.

There was a soft bump, and when they looked up they saw that the dinner table had vanished; and instead of Harry's chair, they found themselves on a huge soft sofa next to the fireplace.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to this room," Fleur giggled and snuggled closer to Harry, "but I think I like it."

The next few minutes passed with pleasurable snogging, during which Harry experienced a range of conflicting sensations and emotions. Of course the feeling of her firm warm body pressed against his was easily the most pleasant he had ever experienced; on the other hand, though, he was rather embarrassed by his physical reaction to her closeness, - which he was sure she couldn't possibly miss, - and also somewhat frightened by the heat he felt rising inside him.

"Er – Fleur?" he said hoarsely when they had to come up for air again.

"Yes?"

"Er – why don't you put on that ring? See if it fits your finger?"

Fleur, who, even though her own feelings were in some turmoil as well, had a reasonably clear idea of his present condition of body and mind, suppressed a giggle.

"A good idea, really," she said as she climbed off Harry's lap, an action not exactly soothing to him. "But where do you think it's gone, now the table's vanished?"

The room must have understood her question, because there was a sudden gleam of silver light from the mantelpiece, and indeed she found the ring there. Now she looked at it more closely for the first time.

"This is amazing," she said to Harry, as, to his secret disappointment, - she plopped down next to him on the sofa. "Remember that ornament Gabie found in the forest? The one we experimented it, and that disappeared somehow or other. The one Luna said was Morgaine's? Now this one looks exactly like it. Can this be a coincidence?"

Bewildered, Harry took the ring from her to look at it again.

"Well," he said slowly. "I'm not one to remember this sort of thing too well, but now you're saying it, I do believe it looks at least similar. What of it?"

"But don't you see, Harry? It's not just similar, it's EXACTLY like it! Why, it even FEELS exactly like it, down to the warm feeling in my hand. If this is a coincidence, then I'll believe anything. Where did you get it?"

"Oh, nothing special, just that tiny shop full of junk down in Hogsmeade."

"Hmm, perhaps I'll have a look into it some time or other… Anyway, it's adorable, and I'm happy you found it."

She started to put the ring on her finger, but Harry gently took it from her.

"Allow me," he said, and even in the light from the fireplace she could see he was blushing furiously.

He rose from the sofa and went down on one knee in front of her.

"A ring has no beginning and no end," he said, his voice solemn. "Just like my love for you… I fell complete when I'm with you, and I miss something when I'm not… So, will you accept this ring as sign and token of my love and devotion?"

He took her hand gently and put the ring on her finger. Then he stood.

"I'm not good at this sort of thing, I'm afraid," he said haltingly, looking at the floor. "I'm sure this sounded pathetic and cliché, like in a trashy novel, but – it's what I really and truly feel. And it's NOT hormones talking, either!" he finished, a defiant note in his voice.

There were tears in Fleur's eyes as she jumped up and folded him in her arms passionately.

"Oh Harry," she whispered between sobs, "you can't know how happy all this makes me! It's the first time-"

She broke off and buried her head in his shoulder, while he stroked her shiny hair gently.

"Do you know," he said after a while, "this is the very first time that Halloween has a PLEASANT surprise for me!"


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27 November**

After dutifully escorting Fleur back to Ravenclaw Tower under the Invisibility cloak – a physical proximity both enjoyed greatly – it was well beyond ten o'clock when Harry climbed through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor common room. Most of the Gryffindors were still up, engaged in various activities, ranging from studying to playing chess to less exerting pastimes like Exploding Snap.

Ron and Hermione were sitting – well, more lounging, in Ron's case, - on the sofa, busily working on some sort of homework or other. That is, as Harry said to himself with a smile, Hermione was doing the working, while Ron's part mostly consisted of the occasional non-committal grunt and the absent-minded stroking of her back. Given this not very high level of concentration, it was only natural that Ron should look up at Harry's entrance.

Probably happy enough about this interruption, he unfolded his lanky figure from the sofa.

"Harry, mate," he said, "We missed you at dinner; where – ah, don't tell me, I know that goofy grin… You've been with her, haven't you?"

Harry tried hard to suppress the surging blush.

"Yeah," he said rather sheepishly. "It's – it's her birthday today, see?"

"But what have you been up to?" Hermione, after putting a neat full stop on her parchment, enquired. "I mean – you've been away for some four hours…"

"Well, it was like this…" Harry started and told them about the Room of Requirement. Hermione was fascinated.

"Of course I've read about it in-"

"_Hogwarts, A History_," Ron sighed theatrically, rolling his eyes.

"- but I never expected… It seemed only for special- well, _important_ occasions…"

"It was important enough for ME," Harry said stubbornly.

"So, what did you get her-" Ron stopped himself. "The ring, of course! She must have loved it."

As Hermione didn't know what he was talking about, Harry had to tell her about that, too.

"We'll have to look at that ring, of course," she said when he had finished. "It may just be a coincidence, but if there is the slightest chance it is not… We'll just have to make sure. Somehow this looks a bit fishy to me, to be honest."

"But, mate," Ron said, returning to a topic he felt a lot more interested in than a stupid ring. "What did the two of you actually DO all that time?"

He was looking at Harry, so he missed the glare from Hermione.

"Ah, wouldn't you like to know?" Harry told him smugly. "Do you really think I'll tell? But I can assure you we had a most wonderful time together."

"You're no friend, you aren't," Ron grumbled. "Now I'll have all sorts of weird dreams…"

At which Hermione huffed disdainfully.

"Well, I'll leave you to your immature fantasies, then," she said giving them a haughty look. "Good night."

"Don't know what's got into her now," Ron muttered. And Harry, although he imagined he had some pretty accurate idea about that, didn't bother to enlighten him. Presently, both went up to their dormitory as well.

Happy and pleasantly tired though he was, Harry found it difficult to fall asleep. The image of Fleur in the emerald green dress was too vivid in his mind, his inner eye found it just as hard – if not harder – to tear itself away from certain physical aspects of hers, as his real eyes had.

"What can a girl like her possibly see in me?" The thought, unbidden, was suddenly there, looming like a dark cloud. "Too beautiful to be real… And I? A little boy – how very right she was… When was that? A year ago? I remember it like yesterday… I dare say I look ridiculous next to her… Why me? She could have any celebrity she wants, why does she bother with a skinny kid with messy hair, who's number one on Voldemort's list, too… pity, most likely…"

But then he recalled the feeling of her warm body against his, her kisses and whispered words; the cloud receded and at last he drifted into sleep.

And this time his dreams were no nightmares.

In the Ravenclaw common room most people were also still about their various businesses when Fleur entered. Most of the students had become used to her well enough by now, so her entrance went largely unnoticed. Fleur, still elated by the evening's events, was just heading towards the staircase quietly, intending to relive said events in private, when Luna accosted her.

"Happy birthday, Fleur," she said, taking her completely by surprise. And before Fleur could even wonder how she knew about her birthday, she went on,"I wonder where he found it."

Even though she had grown accustomed to Luna's habit of changing topics abruptly, Fleur was bewildered once again.

"What?"

"The stone Harry gave you, of course," Luna said, pointing at Fleur's hand. "It's come back to you, hasn't it?"

"Back?"

"Yes, you lost it last year, remember?"

"You mean – it's the same one? How can you be sure?"

"Well – I just – I just _know_… It feels familiar to you, doesn't it?"

Fleur noticed how Luna had said _feel_, rather than _look_.

"Actually, it does," she admitted. "But how on earth…?"

Luna shrugged, as if the question was of no importance.

"It shouldn't be in a setting, though," she said, her voice dreamy again. "It likes to be free…"

Speechless, Fleur watched her as she turned and sauntered off. Could it really be the same stone? And who, then, had set it into the ring, and why? And that weird phrase – it likes to be free…

Unable to think of any sensible explanations, she decided to get to bed.

Similar to Harry, in the privacy of the bed hangings, the images of the evening appeared in her mind again.

"He's so sweet when he gets all awkward… shy and gentle… a pleasant difference when I think of- no, I won't think of those… still, is it really me? … or my looks? … I hate those looks… how can I know for certain?... girls like Hermione – they don't appreciate what they've got… I wish I was like her… then I could be sure…"

Similar to Harry, the dark cloud of these thoughts enveloped her, and similar to Harry again, she remembered how his words had touched her when he had handed her the ring.

And when she fell asleep, her dreams were no nightmares, either.

Xxx

The first weekend of November was at hand, and with it the beginning of the Quidditch season, starting, as always, with Gryffindor playing Slytherin.

Early Saturday morning, Ron, who couldn't sleep any more, and had only slept rather fitfully as it was, scrambled out of his bed. Of course he was trying to be as silent as possible, so as not to wake his roommates, but equally of course, be banged into things and swore in a manner that could have roused the petrified.

"Stuff it, Ron!" came Harry's indistinct voice. "What the heck are you up to at this time of night?"

"Gotta practise!" Ron replied, struggling into his Quidditch gear.

"Oh Merlin!" Seamus groaned. "The bloody match starts at two! What do you think you're doing _now_?"

"Now, I know it's your first game," Harry said, sticking his head out between his bed hangings, "And I know Slytherin are not exactly an easy start, too. But you did well enough in the training sessions, you know that, don't you?"

"And anyway, it's too late now," Dean could be heard, "Or too early…"

"Whatever you do, get lost, and let a guy sleep," Seamus summed up what everybody felt, and Ron, who had at last succeeded in getting ready, left the dormitory.

"Good thing we aren't first to play," Cho told Fleur at breakfast. "The game against Hufflepuff will be hard enough with our inexperienced youngsters, playing Slytherin would be plain murder…"

"Are they that good?"

"Ah, if it was only for that! Actually, they aren't _that_ good in the purely technical sense of the word; but they are absolute champions when it comes to foul play…"

"But surely there is a referee to see to it?"

"As if poor Madam Hooch could see everything! No, just wait and see – and take your lesson. You'll be up against them too!"

After lunch the audience slowly assembled in the stands of the Quidditch pitch. From what Fleur heard, it seemed everybody was eager not so much for Gryffindor to win, but for Slytherin to lose.

"Hardly a fair attitude," she remarked to Bella, who was sitting next to her. "Best team to win, or something like that, isn't it?"

"Just wait till you've seen them play!" Bella replied darkly.

Of course, as soon as the two teams appeared, Fleur's 'best team to win' attitude evaporated at the sight of Harry. Once again she was overwhelmed to see how small and vulnerable he looked, especially if seen next to the Slytherin team that seemed more or less to consist of squarely built thuggish looking part-giants, and whose features only too clearly expressed their wish to bear down on their opponents and crush them to pulp, sports, fairness and rules be damned.

"Harry!" Almost unconsciously, her thoughts went out to him, conveying all her anxiety.

"I'm fine!" his answer came back, and her heart jumped at the light and joyful tone it brought with it. "Forget these clowns."

The whistle went, and it only took a minute or two for Fleur to realise what Cho and the others had meant when they talked about Slytherin's way of playing, when a bludger hit Alicia Spinnet forcefully in the back and sent her dangerously tumbling down with her broom before she could catch herself and regain control of it.

"And she's not even been anywhere near the quaffle!" Fleur said, shocked by the unfairness of it. "Why isn't the referee doing something?"

"Told you so, didn't I?" Bella said with grim satisfaction. "It's no use, either. You can't _prove_ it was done on purpose, can you? Anyone can miss their aim now and then, can they?"

The game went on, and it soon became painfully clear that Ron's keeping abilities were considerably less than satisfactory. Only ten minutes into the game, Slytherin were already leading forty to a miserable zero points for Gryffindor. Seemingly elated by this, they stepped up their violent and unfair play, and still the snitch was nowhere to be seen.

The state of affairs got worse during the following one and a half hours. Even though the snitch put in a couple of appearances, it was never long enough for any of the seekers to get reasonably near to it. In the meantime, the Slytherin chasers, effectively aided by clever strokes from the beaters, were – rather literally – slaughtering the Gryffindors, so that the score was now at 160 to 10, most Gryffindor team members bruised and battered, Ron close to tears, and the Slytherin spectators bloodthirstily roaring for more.

It was, therefore, without any hesitation that Fleur, on seeing the golden twinkle a couple of feet to her left, sent out her silent call to Harry.

Forcing his broom around in an incredible manoeuvre, Harry tore off towards the snitch that he had now seen. Unfortunately, there was no way Draco Malfoy could not notice this, and so he sped towards that spot as well at neck breaking speed.

Fleur gasped, when the disastrous collision seemed inevitable, but, miraculously, Harry managed to change course in the very last second. It was not enough, though, and just as his fingers closed around the struggling golden ball, Malfoy's boots caught him in the head.

For a frightening split second Fleur had the sensation of everything around her going black, and it was only with a huge effort that she could fight it. Horrified, she saw Harry tumbling down, seemingly unconscious. Just before he hit the ground, though, he straightened up and managed to land smoothly on the grass. The audience broke into a deafening roar when he raised his arm to present the snitch.

"That's the game finished!" Lee Jordan shouted excitedly. "And the score is – 160 to 160! Drat, why couldn't he have caught the bloody thing earlier?"

None of the two teams was too happy with the result; of course Harry had been successful with the snitch, yet, the score was just a draw, and not the victory all the Gryffindors had hoped for. And the Slytherins, needless to say, were perfectly fed up, seeing their huge lead come to nothing like that.

Ron, of course, was absolutely devastated and refused to speak to anyone. He didn't even come down to dinner, an unprecedented behaviour that alarmed Hermione so much she left the table to go in search of him.

After dinner, Fleur went over to the Gryffindor table and sat down next to Harry.

"Are you all right?" she asked, eyeing the black and blue lump where Malfoy's boots had collided with his forehead with concern.

"Oh, it's nothing," he said lightly, and his cheerful grin made her heart jump. "Needs more than a dirty Malfoy boot to knock me off. Thanks for that hint," he finished, squeezing her hand.

"I just had to," she said, returning gesture. "It may not have been fair, but then-"

"Anything is fair compared to Slytherins," Harry said matter-of-factly. "Besides, it was the best thing we could have done; if they'd just scored one more goal, it would have been too late. Hey, you'll be next, won't you?"

Again he gave her that grin, and again she felt her insides doing somersaults. She nodded silently.

"So how about some practise tomorrow?"

"Oh, Harry, you know there's nothing I like better than flying with you – well, almost nothing," she added, blushing furiously.

Xxx

When Ron had calmed down sufficiently for Hermione to turn her mind to other issues again, she insisted they take a closer look at Fleur's ring.

"Even if it is – and I expect it will be, - only a coincidence, and a striking similarity," she told Fleur one evening, "It will be good to know for sure. And if it's NOT, it will be especially important, because there are no end of good uses you can put it to. There e can be no harm in making sure, anyway."

Therefore, one afternoon after lessons, when the feeble November sun was already going down behind the mountain range, they met on the lakeshore.

"It used to protect you from spells," Hermione said. "The stone you had last year did, that is. So if I fling this _Expelliarmus_ at you-"

The spell hit the unsuspecting Fleur right in the stomach, even before Hermione had finished her sentence, blasted her off her feet and sent her sprawling to the ground a couple of feet away, while her wand sailed into Hermione's outstretched hand in an elegant arc.

"Oof," said Fleur, trying to catch her breath, and "Well," said Hermione trying not to look too smug and satisfied with herself.

"So that's one question answered," said Fleur, struggling to her feet and suspecting Hermione might have put slightly more force into her spell than altogether necessary. "So it seems Luna was wrong for once…"

"And a good thing, too," Harry, who had rushed towards her and was now busy dusting the dirt off her robes, added. "I mean – it would have been _quite_ weird if it was the same stone, don't you think?"

And they all had to agree.

Xxx

Inexorably, the end of November and with it the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff drew nearer, and Roger Davies was getting more distraught each day. Fleur could not blame him, the team's progress was slow, to put it favourably, and it would need a major miracle for Ravenclaw to win the game.

The dark outlook was confirmed when, one afternoon, Fleur went to watch the Hufflepuff team at practice. It was true that their chasers seemed to be having some difficulties coordinating their movements, and compared to Roger, their keeper was rather inadequate, but Peter Summerby, the Hufflepuff captain, who had succeeded Cedric as seeker, was extremely good, very nearly as good as Harry, Fleur had to admit to herself.

"He's been their seeker for years," Cho told her, tying to reassure her. "So he's bound to know what he's doing. Just keep a clear head and your eyes open, then you can certainly beat him."

"Well, if you say so," Fleur replied doubtfully, not for the first time reflecting on the unfairness of the Quidditch rules that made catching one golden snitch worth the long and wearisome toil of scoring fifteen goals.

"It's just the way it is," Cho shrugged when Fleur mentioned these ideas to her. "There's absolutely no use thinking about it all. I didn't make those rules, did I? And it's not that you actually hate this one particular rule as long as you are the one that catches the snitch, am I right?"

"I suppose you are," Fleur agreed. She was always surprised how seriously Cho took anything Quidditch, but she was glad to see that it was a topic that meant a lot to her and could even take her mind off Cedric.

She did not, though, say that it was all a game, because she was sure her friend would not understand her.

AN: Well, another chapter from yours truly, which - hopefully - finds your approval. I'm no good at writing quidditch games, which is awful because I need to write the Hufflepuf/Ravenclaw game in the next chapter. If anybody out there would like to assist me inthis, you're welcome. Just drop me aline.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28 Ravenclaw seeker

Even though Fleur kept telling herself that, after all, it was only a game, and that there were other things in her life that were more important than a ridiculous Quidditch match, she found it difficult to sleep the night before her first appearance as Ravenclaw seeker, and she had to resort to the Somnium spell to relax and get some rest.

Not unlike Ron – although she didn't know about that, - she woke up rather early on Saturday morning; but unlike him, she did not rush off for some practising on her own. Instead, she concentrated hard, and, applying the Virtualis spell, went to visit Gabrielle.

The little girl was still asleep in her room, and, being immaterial, Fleur found it pretty difficult to wake her without raising the whole house with her voice. When she succeeded at last, and Gabrielle had rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she told her about the impending game.

"So what if I make a mess of it, and a fool of myself?" she finished.

"Do you know – I think you most likely will," Gabrielle told her with the cheeky grin that Fleur always found so irresistible. "I mean – what do you expect? You may be quite good on the broom, I'm sure you are, but, honestly, you've only been training for Quidditch for not even two months. And their seeker has been doing his seeking for – how long?"

"I'm not sure – four or five years, possibly."

"See?" Gabrielle continued, a hint of _I told you so_ in her voice. "How can you possibly imagine you can beat a guy like that after barely two weeks? It would be nothing less than a miracle, wouldn't it?"

And, although reluctantly, Fleur had to admit that, once again, her little sister was right.

"But Cho?" she said weakly. "Won't she hate me? It all means such a lot to her… And I'd so love her to get her mind off that miserable business of Cedric…"

"She'll understand, I'm sure; and, after all, she talked you into it, didn't she? So she can't very well be fed up with you if you bungle it. She knows all there is to know about Quidditch, right? Then she'll be realistic enough not to expect the impossible, anyway. So there is absolutely no reason for you to be worried. Moreover, if such a thing could make her hate you, she'd not be what I call a friend at all, and you'd be far better off without her, too."

"Oh Gabie, sometimes you are so much wiser than I am," Fleur sighed. "And if I could, I'd give you a very tight hug for it, too. You have a way of calming me down when I'm starting to get hysterical…"

"I always try to be of service," the little girl smiled. "But now tell me about the really important things: What news from Harry?"

And Fleur, who had been dying to tell someone about it all anyway, launched into a detailed account of the evening of her birthday, the room of requirement, Harry's present, and, of course, Harry himself.

"If only I could be sure it's me he loves, and not the veela!" she finished despondently.

Gabrielle would have nothing of it.

"What do you mean, sure?" she scolded her sister. "Now, let's see-," she started counting on her fingers. One: The veela-charm didn't work on him, right? Two: Water and fire, remember? Three: That business with the dementor, yes? And four: The telepathic link between you, on top of it all? What more proof do you want? Stop being so silly and self centred, and appreciate what you've got!"

"But-,"

"No but!" Gabrielle said very decisively. "And if you mean would he also love you if you didn't look the way you do, then, no, you'll never _know_, will you? This isn't the sort of thing you _can_ know. And the proof you do have is a whole lot more than anybody usually gets, and I'm not even thinking of muggles here…"

"Oh, Gabie, what would I do without you?" There was a sob of happiness in Fleur's voice as, in vain of course, she tried to envelop her sister in her arms, which caused the little girl to break into a fit of giggles.

"You'd probably be in your body, back in Ravenclaw tower," she said when she could speak again. "Which is where you should be, come to think of it. What do you think they'll do if they find you in this state?"

And as Fleur had to admit she didn't like to imagine that, she said good-bye and returned to her body, just in time to find her room mates stirring.

Neither at breakfast nor at lunch did Fleur feel like eating a lot, even when Cho urged her to do something to keep her strength up.

"Nobody knows how long the game is going to take," she told her friend sternly. "And once you've started you have to stay on your broom, no matter what. So you'd better get a bite or two while you have the chance."

So Fleur dutifully poked at the food on her plate and managed to swallow a couple of mouthfuls, but soon she pushed the plate away again and rose from the table.

Harry had been watching her and followed her out of the great hall.

"You'll be fine," he said soothingly as he pulled her towards him. "Of course you are nervous, it's your first game ever, right? You'd be super-human if you weren't. And that's what I love about you," he added and kissed her warmly. "One of the things about you," He corrected himself a minute later, which earned him a playful punch immediately followed by another enthusiastic kiss.

"Thank you Harry," Fleur whispered gratefully. "You'll be watching, won't you?"

"Dementors couldn't stop me. Now you'd better get ready, though."

And after a final kiss Fleur rushed off to the Quidditch grounds to change.

As it was the end of November, nobody was surprised at the weather: There was a slight but continuous drizzle coming down, mingled with some snowflakes now and then.

"A blessing there is no wind, at least," Cho told nobody in particular as they were getting into their Quidditch robes. "And don't forget the Drying charm," she said to Fleur. "You'll have good use for it today."

With fond thoughts Fleur put on the enchanted woollen gloves Gabrielle had given her last Christmas, as well as her mother's birthday present, the Everclear Quidditch glasses, put the drying charm on her robes and followed the others out onto the pitch.

In spite of the awful weather the stalls were packed with spectators, and, quite differently from the last game, Fleur could feel nothing of the tense and hostile atmosphere that had been so obvious then.

"This seems more like the sporting spirit of the game," she told Cho.

"Naturally," her friend replied. "No Slytherins playing today."

_And of course there's no way I could accept any help from Harry_, Fleur thought to herself. _Not that he would offer any, either…_

Madame Hooch's whistle went and the players rose into the air.

If Fleur had noticed a general difference of atmosphere on entering the pitch, the actual game confirmed her impression. There were certainly no vicious bludgers hurled at players simply out of spite, and the overall fairness of the game was clearly obvious. Nevertheless, each team was clearly motivated to do their best to win the game. Especially Roger was surpassing himself in his new position as keeper, and Fleur could not help admiring his reactions. Only ten minutes into the game, he managed a spectacular save that made the entire audience jump to their feet with an excited roar of approval.

"Easily the most amazing feat of a keeper in many years!" Lee Jordan was shouting excitedly, as Roger hurled the quaffle back towards the middle of the pitch. "Roger Davies is excelling himself once again! Bad Luck for Hufflepuff indeed! Who'd have thought that shot could be saved?"

The first Ravenclaw goal was scored by Cho after some thirty minutes, when she shot past the Hufflepuff players in a murderous arc and hurled the quaffle into the middle hoop before the keeper even realised something was going on.

"Excellent move by Chang!" Lee Jordan commented. "That girl can fly! And she's stunningly pretty, too, unlike some Slytherins I could mention – sorry, Professor McGonagall!"

In the meantime, Fleur was getting bored. She kept circling the pitch high above the actual playing level, straining her eyes for the snitch, but without seeing the faintest glimmer of it, in spite of the Everclear glasses. Peter Summerby, the Hufflepuff seeker, kept hovering near her, and although her common sense told her that this was exactly the sensible thing to do for a seeker, it began to annoy her. Moreover, she was beginning to realise that even the best Everdry charm on Quidditch robes could not cover every part of your body, and the clammy coldness was slowly but relentlessly seeping into her very bones; her long mane of hair was already soaking wet and clinging to her in an unpleasant way, getting into her eyes ever so often, and everything combined did not do much to improve her spirits. In fact, she was beginning to regret her decision to play seeker altogether; at least, the beaters and chasers got to do things, while she was just stupidly cruising around doing nothing at all.

"Keep going!" Suddenly Harry's thoughts were in her head, and she felt new energies flowing through her. "This is what the bloody snitch wants you to feel like. And it will appear when you least expect it. AND it's what the other seeker wants you to feel, too. So don't give him a chance! You ARE good, and you know it!"

"Thank you, Harry!" Wordless, her response went out to him, a wave of emotion rather than a clear message, and she resumed her watch with doubled alertness.

Down in the pitch the game was continuing. Around the fiftieth minute, Angua Wolf, one of the Hufflepuff chasers, in a dramatic solo soared past Roger Davies and slammed the quaffle into the central hoop with tremendous force.

"Great move!" Fleur could hear Lee Jordan shout above the noise from the Hufflepuff supporters. "Someone should have cried Wolf in time! Who'd have thought she was such an amazing flyer?"

Distracted for a moment, Fleur was suddenly aware that Peter Summerby had vanished from her side. Panicking, she looked around and saw him speeding towards the castle towers at neck breaking speed. She flattened herself against her broom and rushed after him, inwardly cursing her negligence. And indeed, she was caching up with him, slowly but surely, and she believed she could already see the golden glitter in front of them.

Suddenly, however, Peter slowed down and in a wide arc returned towards the pitch. Fleur could not believe it, but it was true: The snitch had vanished.

Uncertain whether to be annoyed with herself of glad that Peter had not been able to catch the snitch either, she followed the Hufflepuff's example and returned to her vantage point above the pitch.

There, in the meantime, Edith Chambers had scored another goal for Ravenclaw. The weather was still as nasty as ever and in addition the light was failing fast now. However, the enthusiasm of the two teams was, if anything, stronger than before, although, even now, there was never any question of a move or a strike being anything less than perfectly fair, a fact that Fleur could not help but admire.

In quick succession, Cho, and the third Ravenclaw chaser, Jeff Bradley, scored two more goals, while a couple of dangerous attacks by Angua and her fellow chaser Jack Worthing were only foiled very narrowly by Roger.

"Ten to forty for Ravenclaw!" Lee Jordan shouted. "They are good, these two teams, very good indeed. Time for the snitch to show up, though; we'd all love to see the stunning new Ravenclaw seeker in action, wouldn't we? Sorry, Professor."

Normally, this comment would have annoyed Fleur, but she hardly registered it at all. She felt cold and tired and her only wish was for the stupid snitch to show itself. She didn't even care much if it would be her or Peter who caught it, the only important thing seemed that the game would be over then.

It was with some shock, therefore, that she heard the whirring noise next to her ear, and so her reaction was not as fast as it might have been in other circumstances. When she turned her head, she could just see the golden streak hurtling towards the ground getting rapidly smaller in the darkness.

It only took her a second to urge her broom into action, but it was enough to allow Peter Summerby to notice what was happening, and when she shot after the golden ball in an almost perpendicular dive, he was right by her side. Determined not to be outflown this time she increased her speed even more.

The wind was howling in her ears, the snow and rain stung her face and strands of her wet hair were whipping at her cheeks as she raced downwards. She was vaguely aware that Peter dropped back slightly, but the only thing that mattered was the tiny golden ball that was tantalisingly swishing to and fro in front of her.

"I'll get you still," she said to herself.

However, just when she was reaching out for her prey, the tiny ball jumped abruptly downwards. Fleur, only intent on catching it, had not paid enough attention and had, in the dark, not realised that the ground was only about a foot away. As in that very moment, she had only one hand on her broom, and was still flying at a tremendous speed, she could not manoeuvre it quickly enough; and thus her feet got caught in the high grass, and she somersaulted in a high arc before crashing headlong into the ground, while the handle of her broom carved a deep furrow into the lawn. Everything went black.


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: Welcome to the new chapter. It's sometimes quite strange how storied develop a life of their own, and this is an example. Some of the events here have come as a surprise to me, too.

BTW, I'm a bit disappointed nobody commented on some of the names I introduced in the last chapter. Not that they will play an important part, though – at least until they tell me otherwise. R, enjoy, and R!

Chapter 29 Presents and Invitations

Even before she really surfaced into full consciousness, she was aware of the pain, pain in her hands that seemed to be slowly recovering from complete numbness, pain in her legs, and a dull heavy ache in her head. It seemed too much effort to try and open her eyes, they were sure to hurt as well.

"Fleur!" A voice, only vaguely familiar at first, found its way into her mind, and it took her a while to identify it. Slowly she opened her eyes.

"Harry?"

Again it was a couple of seconds before she could take in where she was: In a white bed, clearly not the bed in her dormitory, with a number of people standing around her. And there was Harry sitting next to her on the bed, holding her hands, his eyes behind his glasses filled with anxiety.

"Fleur! How are you?"

She tried to speak but her throat was dry.

"Here, drink this," Madam Pomfrey entered her field of vision, proffering a large silver goblet. "It will ease the pain."

"Come, let me help you," Harry said. He put his arm round her shoulders and helped her to sit up in the bed. Only now she noticed she was still in her Quidditch robes, which were torn and spattered with mud. Dirty and wet strands of hair fell into her face. Harry gently shoved them aside. He took the goblet from Madam Pomfrey with his free hand and set it to her lips.

The drink was cool and soothing, and she could feel how the pain receded until all that remained was a faint throbbing in the back of her head. She looked around. Besides Harry, there was Cho, as well as Roger Davies and the rest of the Ravenclaw team, and there was even Peter Summerby, looking as concerned as everybody else.

"What happened?" she finally managed to ask.

"You crashed," Harry told her.

"I thought it might be something like that…"

"Ah, you are smiling again. Well, it seems you were a trifle too eager in your very first match… But you are fine now – isn't she, Madam Pomfrey?" His voice was still anxious.

"A couple of bruises and a sprained ankle, - nothing serious," she reassured him.

"My heart nearly stopped," Harry went on, as he took the goblet from her and helped her to lie down on her pillows again. "When I saw how you hit the ground. It's a miracle nothing too serious happened."

"She might have broken her neck," Madam Pomfrey grumbled to nobody in particular. "Sports!" she added, and the tone of her voice made it very clear what she thought about it.

"But it was certainly a spectacular action," Cho said. "I've never seen anybody fly like that, well, except for Harry, perhaps," she added.

"Thanks," Fleur said smiling somewhat weakly. "But – did I – did we win?"

"A feat like yours would certainly deserve to be successful," Peter spoke up, stepping forward. "But, I'm honestly sorry to say, you didn't catch the snitch before the crash. – Sorry about that," he repeated lamely.

"Oh," Fleur's face fell. She searched for Cho's eyes. "You should have remained seeker, I guess… And I expect I'd better resign from the team right now…"

"Nonsense!" Cho said energetically. And a decisive "Of course not" came from Roger. "It was your very first game," he went on. "And considering that, and the weather and everything, there is absolutely no reason why you should leave the team. You are an excellent flyer, and we really need every talent we can get. So, as team captain, I refuse to accept your resignation."

"Thank you," Fleur said and she felt a wave of relief washing over her that made her marvel at herself. If anyone had told her only a year ago that she would be playing Quidditch, she would have laughed at them. But, even more surprising, she found that it was not 'just a game' to her any more; now, winning mattered to her.

Suddenly she realised how tired she was. The pain was gone and she felt a pleasant heaviness settling on her so that she found it difficult to keep her eyes open.

"Don't go, Harry," she murmured reaching for his hand, before she dropped off into sleep.

Of course, even though he remonstrated with her emphatically, Madam Pomfrey threw Harry out of her hospital wing once Fleur was fast asleep.

"No, Mr. Potter," she told him very firmly. "It's strictly against the rules for you to remain here on your own. Now I know,-" she continued when Harry opened his mouth in protest, "that you will behave yourself, and everything, but I simply cannot allow it. Besides, she needs her rest, and trust me, she'll be right as rain tomorrow morning. Now, off you go."

She closed the door behind him and reluctantly Harry joined the others in the Gryffindor common room.

"It's my fault," he said to Ron and Hermione.

"Nonsense," Hermione told him. "Whatever makes you think that?"

"I showed her those tricks, didn't I? And she didn't have enough practice, and I should have made sure she was more secure on her broom… Oh, and perhaps she wanted to show me how good she already had become… She is that kind of person, you know…"

"Well, she's been asking for it, in my opinion," said Hermione, somewhat nastily, as Harry couldn't help thinking. "As all of you Quidditch nuts are, if you ask me."

Ron had not been listening, but was scribbling busily on a scrap of parchment.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

"Checking out the chances for the Cup," Ron said somewhat absently. "If Slytherin beat Hufflepuff with a large enough margin, which I think is pretty likely, and you get the snitch against Hufflepuff before I can let too many quaffles in, which I also think is possible, and if Ravenclaw…"

"Merlin, Ron," Harry stopped him irritably. "It's just been the second game. What's the use? There's no end of things that can happen, so just give it a rest, will you?"

Sulking, Ron got up and marched up the stairs to the dormitory.

True to Madame Pomfrey's prediction, Fleur was perfectly fine next morning, and when Harry, without bothering with breakfast, went to see her, she was ready to leave the hospital wing.

"You'll have to help me practise more," was about the first thing she told him – after a series of emotional kisses, naturally. "It was completely my own fault. Why couldn't I keep my eyes open? I want to learn how to fly my broom without holding on to it with both my hands, and I've even seen you stand on it, balancing. I want to learn all that, too!"

Harry, who had come to the hospital wing with the idea to apologise for his rash teachings, was overwhelmed with that outburst and at a loss what to say.

"And here I was thinking you hated all competitive sports! What's made you change your mind?"

Fleur thought for a minute, then shrugged.

"I don't know. Somehow, suddenly, I want to win – or want the Ravenclaw team to win. It's the same as with that Tournament last year: I remember how reluctantly I entered my name at first and how much I wanted to win after having been chosen…"

"Hmm, I'm not sure I can risk teaching you too much, you know," Harry said seriously, but his eyes gave him away. "I don't expect the Gryffindors would appreciate it."

"But I'll never be as good as you are, Harry! You will, cherie, won't you?"

He gave up his pretence and grinned at her.

"With you looking at me like this? What do you think?"

After a couple of minutes of demonstrative gratitude, Fleur slipped out of Harry's arms and said,

"Let's start today! But first, I need some breakfast. I could devour a dragon!"

Xxx

The beginning of December saw a period of severe cold, but after one week of heavy snowfall, the skies cleared, and the brilliant white landscape sparkled in the sun under a cloudless deep blue sky.

Harry and Fleur were outside practising on their brooms most of their free time, and, although it involved several falls and near-crashes, Fleur kept it up, and her skills were gradually approaching Harry's.

In fact, one afternoon, as they went back to the castle after another round, Harry told her,

"I don't think there's much left that I can teach you. A bit more practice, perhaps, but basically, I believe you know as much about flying as I do. Angelina is going to kill me for this-"

He was stopped by Fleur hurling herself at him and kissing him passionately.

"- but it's worth it, believe me!" he finished when he was in a position to speak again.

They walked on silently, until Fleur spoke again.

"Do you remember, Harry? Just a year ago – we had just finished the first task – "

"Oh yes. And then I caught that egg for you, remember?"

"Do you know – I think that's when I fell in love with you…"

"But it took you a while to show me, didn't it?"

"Beast!" She pushed him playfully. "I guess it took me some time to realise, and then some more time to admit it to myself… Actually, it was Gabrielle who made me see what was before my very eyes…"

"Little Gabie! I'd love to see her again! How is she doing?"

"Fine enough; I went to see her the morning of the match. She'd so love to be here – and it's two more years until she can even start going to school… She's always so very clever – I don't know what I'd do without her…"

A few days later the colourful Delacour mail bird dropped a letter in front of Fleur at breakfast.

_Ma Chere,_

_It is not so long until Christmas now, and time to make plans and preparations. I and all the family trust that this year we will again be able to spend the holidays together. We missed you terribly last year. _

_Ask Harry if he wants to come, too. We would all be delighted to have him with us._

_Please tell me soon if he is coming,_

_Your loving mother._

"My mother," Fleur said to Cho. "She's inviting Harry for the holidays. And do you know – I believe she's never signed as _your loving mother_ ever before! I'll have to tell him right away!"

Breathlessly she rushed over to the Gryffindor table.

"Look!" she gasped, waving the letter in Harry's face. He took it and glanced at it.

"Sorry," he said with a smile. "But – it's all French to me."

"Mother is inviting you to spend the Christmas holidays with us! You will come, Harry, won't you?"

"Hmm – let me think… I could always bully the Dursleys into letting me stay with them, I suppose, or I could spend some time with my one and only fantastic girlfriend… A hard choice, really, don't you think so, Ron?"

"Well I did tell you you'd be welcome at the Burrow," Ron said in a sulky tone of voice. "But I understand that's not a competition…"

"Come Ron," Harry nudged him. "You know it's not a question of competition at all – I, for one, don't feel the slightest inclination to test if you are better at kissing…"

Ron went red, muttered something and turned his attention to his bacon and eggs again.

"Tell your mum I'll love to come," Harry told Fleur. "But let's make it a surprise for Gabrielle."

"Yes, let's," Fleur replied with a big smile. "And –you know – it sounds so strange to hear you call her my mum…"

Aware of the students' need to find Christmas presents for their friends and families, Dumbledore allowed them another Hogsmeade weekend two weeks before the beginning of the holidays. Therefore, that Saturday after lunch an enormous crowd was streaming out of the castle doors, towards the waiting horseless carriages.

Hermione seemed eager not to let Ron leave her side.

"I won't allow you to spend so much on a present for me again," she said. "That perfume was really enough, and more than you should have done! So, promise me that you'll just get me something tiny if you must."

She glared at Harry, who was struggling to suppress his grin, and steered Ron away to one of the carriages.

Fleur and Harry, on the other hand, who both wanted to look for some present for the other, had agreed to go into the village separately and to meet up in the Three Broomsticks afterwards.

So Fleur found herself walking towards the carriages together with Lyra, Calliope and Aurora. Luna was standing at the shaft of one of the vehicles, moving one hand in a strange way through the air. When they came nearer, they saw that she was holding what looked like a sandwich in her other hand in front of her, and just when Fleur wanted to ask her what she was doing, there was a slurping noise and the sandwich was gone. Luna made a cooing sound, gave the empty air another pat, wiped her other hand on her cloak and looked at them with a happy smile.

"He likes the attention even better than the snack," she told them brightly, turned and marched back towards the castle.

"What-?" Fleur began.

"Search me," Aurora said and shrugged. "Ask her, if you must know, but I don't think it will matter. And now let's get going."

"Luna sees things nobody else can see," Lyra said quietly. "But she usually knows what she's doing…"

They got into the carriage and presently arrived in the village.

"Do you mind terribly if I come with you?" Lyra asked Fleur when they descended from the carriage, while Aurora was already on her way to the fashion store. "I won't be angry if you say no," she added as an afterthought.

"Of course not; in fact, it's perhaps a good idea to get a second opinion. To be honest, I have no idea what to get for Harry. It should be something special, you know…" she stopped and felt herself blush.

"Well, perhaps it will just jump at you when you see it," Lyra said with a smile. "It's more often like that than you'd imagine. They say there is some magic involved in giving gifts…"

"Really? Who says?"

"I forge where I heard it, but it's supposed to be something like second sight; as if the ideal gift has a way of calling out to you… Mind you, it might just be one of those legends…"

"If Harry's ring is anything to go by, there must be a lot of truth in it… "Fleur looked at the silver metal band on her finger thoughtfully. "I do hope I can find something adequate. Anyway, let's go. I want to find that shop he told me about."

So they set off together along the High Street and indeed, after a couple of minutes, they found the shop with the sign of _Grit Garlick's Gifts_ and entered.

"Welcome, dear young ladies," the shopkeeper's voice sounded from the dusky interior of the shop. "Christmas gifts for some gallant gentlemen?"

"Well, my father, actually," said Lyra quietly.

"A gallant gentleman nevertheless," the shopkeeper laughed. "This way, dear, this way!" And she pointed towards a line of shelves. "And for the other young lady-" she looked at Fleur shrewdly through her large glasses. "Don't say a thing, dear! I know – I remember who bought this ring… And I am sure you will find just the right thing for him over there!"

Surprised that the shopkeeper recognised her ring so easily, Fleur turned and started walking along the row of shelves she had indicated, wondering if there was any truth in what Lyra had said.

She kept wandering among the shelves for some time, the beam of light faithfully following her, without coming across anything that caught her eye. But suddenly a golden glitter drew her attention. A clasp or brooch, such as were used for fastening cloaks at the neck, in the form of a rampant golden lion was displayed on a blue silk cushion.

"The Gryffindor Lion!" Fleur thought. She took the ornament in her hands to look at it more closely. The figure of the lion was an exquisite piece of craftsmanship, she thought she could see each single hair. A single red ruby was set in as its eye and it sparkled brightly in the beam of light above her head.

Without any further hesitation, she returned to the counter with the lion.

"I did tell you you would find exactly the right thing, didn't I?" the shopkeeper said, as Fleur handed her find over to her. "Even if you did not know what you were looking for."

"It's beautiful," Fleur said, whispering without noticing.

"Yes, isn't it? The wizard that sold it to me said something about it having belonged to Godric Gryffindor himself, but of course that doesn't mean anything, he just wanted to get a better price, I am sure. Who in their right mind would sell an authentic Gryffindor heirloom as if it was just some ordinary piece of jewellery? No, there's nothing to it, to be sure."

"If there was, you'd certainly not sell it just like this," Fleur said with a smile. She was sure the whole story was just a way to make her more interested. "So, what will you want for it?"

"A clever young lady you are," the shopkeeper said. "And I won't ask more than it's worth as it is. It's pure gold, you know, and this is a beautiful ruby, too…"

"How much?" Fleur was getting impatient.

"You young people don't appreciate the beautiful art of bargaining anymore… 150 Galleons, and it's worth every Knut of it, believe me."

At that moment, Lyra appeared from among the shelves, holding something in her hand. The shopkeeper turned towards her.

"Yes, dear? Have you found what you were looking for?"

"Er… I've found _something_," Lyra said hesitantly. "I don't know about the looking for part, though… Anyway, I'd like to have this…" She presented something that, to Fleur, looked like a very ordinary piece of carved wood. "My dad collects them," she said as if to explain her choice.

"An interesting hobby, I am sure," said the shopkeeper. "And a fine example of ancient Scottish craftsmanship this one is, to be sure. Not that I thought someone would be interested in this sort of thing, though… That's also why I can let you have it cheap – how about seven Sickles?"

Lyra counted out the coins and pocketed her purchase in her cloak. Fleur, who was beginning to feel somewhat neglected, was just opening her mouth to say something of the kind, when the shopkeeper turned to her again.

"I'm so sorry, dear. Now, 150, I believe I said?"

Fleur, annoyed because of the woman's behaviour, said, "A hundred should be quite enough, I think."

"Ah the spirit of youth! Not to be outdone by a greedy old woman, eh? I appreciate that, dear. Well, a hundred it is. Shall I wrap it for you?"

"No, thank you," Fleur replied, rather surprised at the woman's acceptance of her offer. "I want it to be personal," she added, in a more conciliatory tone.

"Right you are, dear. There's nothing like the personal touch to a present. It's been a pleasure to deal with you young ladies. I do hope to see you again in my humble shop."

"She is quite a strange person, don't you think?" Fleur said when they had left the shop. "She let me have that clasp 50 Galleons cheaper without so much as a grumble. Why did she change her mind so fast, do you think?"

"I have no idea; just take it and enjoy it. It IS a beautiful piece, to be sure, even if all he stuff about Godric Gryffindor is a lot of rubbish."

"Of course it is. I bet she just made that up. But what did you buy, Lyra? What is it your dad collects?"

"Knives," Lyra answered, sounding embarrassed. "I know it's a weird hobby, and I have no idea why he does it. And, before you ask, no, he isn't the violent type at all, quite the opposite – as gentle and kind as a girl could wish for her father to be…" her voice had become soft as she said it. And he still misses mum so much…"

"Your mum died?"

"Oh, it would be easier for him if she had. But she – she disappeared. He has never told me about it, no matter how often I have asked him, but I think he still hopes to find her again some day…"

"I'm sorry," Fleur said quietly, putting an arm round her. Orest the parrot was making small cooing sounds on Lyra's shoulder.

Lyra straightened up with a visible effort. "Well, that's neither here nor there," she said a tone of lightness in her voice that sounded forced. "The others will already be waiting for us in the pub. Let's go."


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: **A slightly quicker update; thanks for reviewing, especially to BAGGE, who keeps on giving me ideas... Enjoy!

**Chapter 30 The Delacour Mansion**

During the next couple of days, most of the teachers relented somewhat and reduced the amount of homework with regard to the upcoming holiday.

Not so Snape, naturally.

"It's not as if we could waste time," he would tell the class. "There are still several items of subject matter that need to be done. You have some NEWTS to keep in mind. Even if for some it may look like ages, they are closer than you seem to think – judging from the sluggish sort of work you have been doing lately."

He glared at his students, and, it seemed to Fleur, especially at her. She was sure she had done reasonably well at Potions during the last couple of weeks, but she knew the professor well enough by now to know that he did not need any particular reasons to be nasty.

("He hates you because he hasn't been able to take points off you," Lyra suggested.)

Apart from these less than pleasant lessons, though, the last two weeks before the Christmas holidays passed quietly enough.

"Will you come home for the holidays, too?" Fleur asked her grandmother one day after the defence lesson.

"I'm afraid not, cherie; I don't think it's a good idea if Harry sees me there in my present form, and I'm not sure I can work it out to return to my normal appearance at he right moment. Also, there is rather a lot to prepare here for the next term. But-" she went on when she saw Fleur's disappointment, "perhaps I can make it for a short visit on New Year's Eve. I can't promise anything, though; especially as Albus has asked me to help him with a couple of things…"

"Albus? Grandma!"

"All the teachers here call him Albus, there's nothing at all to it!"

"Oh, Grandma, I never knew you were such a miserable liar! But it's good to hear you are getting along well with him…"

"Stop smirking, you naughty child! Yes, it's right, we are getting along fine, but that's just it, nothing else!"

"Well, if you say so… After all, it took me some time too – to find out about Harry and myself… Or, rather, to admit it to myself. – Ow! Why are you hitting me?

Laughing, Fleur fled to meet up with Harry.

"How are we going to travel to France?" Harry asked one afternoon. "You can't apparate across such distances, can you?"

"No, certainly not. I don't suppose mother will send the family coach again – she just did it to show off, you know; so we'll probably have to use the international floo network. Well, I expect she'll send me an owl about it soon."

And indeed, next morning, the Delacour mail bird delivered silver goblet, together with a short note that explained it was a portkey that was to transport them to the Delacours Mansion on the Friday before the holidays, at four o'clock in the afternoon.

"You are so quiet, Harry," Fleur said in the evening. "Is there something wrong?"

"Erm – well – I've been wondering… I – should get some kind of present for your mother, shouldn't I?"

"What? No, you really don't have to. What on earth would you get her, anyway?"

"Well – see, I've been thinking about the way you always describe her… I believe she likes to show off, doesn't she?"

"What are you trying to get at? Well, yes, yes of course she does, but what-"

"I – I was thinking – oh, this sounds so stupid… But do you believe she'd like – a – photo with – with my autograph?"

As Fleur seemed speechless, he added quickly,

"I know it's nothing, just tell me if you think it's –"

He couldn't finish because Fleur threw herself into his arms and kissed him fervently.

"Oh, Harry," she gasped. "You'd really do THAT? I know how much you hate being famous and everything, and you'd do a thing like that? Just for my mother? She'll never be able to appreciate what doing it means to you! She'll put that picture somewhere VERY conspicuous, and she'll make EVERY visitor admire it… Are you really sure you want that?"

Harry shuddered.

"Of course I don't WANT it, but – I mean, she has everything she could possibly want, right? And, after all, I'm doing it for you!"

This remark, understandably, earned him another passionate bout of kissing.

The nearer the holidays came, the darker Ron's mood seemed to become, and it was only when Hermione told him her parents had allowed her to spend tem with him at the Burrow that he cheered up somewhat.

"If you are quite sure you can put up with all those brothers of mine," he said, trying – unsuccessfully – to sound casual. "I suppose it might brighten up things a bit…"

But in spite of it all, there was some distinct jealousy in his voice whenever the topic of Harry going to France came up.

The last Friday of school was finally there, the last lessons were finished and most students were getting ready to go home. Most of them were to take the Hogwarts Express to London, where they would be picked up by their families. Cho, although she had remonstrated with Dumbledore that she wanted to be near Cedric, had to leave as well. It would have caused curiosity if she had stayed for no apparent reason. Only a very few were staying behind, among them, as Fleur had already heard, Lyra and Luna. Luna's father was going on an expedition to remote parts of Canada to look for some exotic creature or other (Fleur had forgotten the name). Lyra had been rather vague about her own father's doings during the week between Christmas and New Year, she had only said that he would not be able to spend the holidays with her, but she had not given the impression of minding it much.

"Luna and I can keep each other company," she had said lightly, when Fleur had said something to try and cheer her up. "Everything will be nice and quiet for a change." And it had been very obvious to Fleur that she did not want to discuss the matter any further.

After saying their good-byes to Hermione, Ron and the others, Fleur and Harry sat down in the deserted Great Hall with their portkey and waited for the clock to strike four. At the last strike, there was the familiar sensation and after a somewhat prolonged feeling of dizziness – due, as Harry supposed, to the long distance they had travelled – they found themselves in the salon of the Delacour Mansion.

Even before Harry had time to look at his new surroundings, there was a shriek of delight, and Gabrielle hurled herself at him, almost knocking him off his feet.

"Harry!" the little girl exclaimed happily. "Harry! Is it really you?" And only after this outburst she turned to her sister to give her an enthusiastic hug. "Why didn't you tell me?" she scolded. "I'd have put on my most beautiful dress for him…"

"Hello, Gabrielle," Harry said, recovering from her assault. "Let me have a look at you - You really have grown a lot since I saw you last. And you are getting as pretty as your big sister…"

"Really, Harry, you shouldn't spoil her like that," Fleur told him. "And I'll be getting jealous, too, if you say such things…" But nevertheless, she proceeded to translate his words faithfully for her sister, who blushed happily at the compliment.

Gently disentangling herself from Gabrielle's arms, Fleur took Harry's hand and went to introduce him to her mother.

Like everybody else who met Isabeau Delacour for the first time, Harry was overwhelmed with her magnificent appearance. While Fleur usually wore her hair open, her mother had set it in an elaborate style, piled high up on her head, so that she looked even taller than she was. She was wearing a midnight blue sleeveless dress with a daringly low neckline that set off the creamy whiteness of her skin. It was perhaps just because of all the things Fleur had told him about her mother, but Harry had the distinct feeling that there was a certain coldness in those deep blue eyes that were so similar to Fleur's. He felt small and insignificant, his throat seemed to be suddenly dry as he tried to say something.

Before he could, though, Isabeau reached out and took both his hands in hers.

"_Bienvenue_, Harry," she said with a dazzling smile. "I am so glad to meet you at last." He noted with surprise that there was no trace of a foreign accent in her English. "I was very angry with this silly girl for not introducing us over at Hogwarts before the third task of the tournament. Welcome again, and I hope you will have a lovely time with us."

With these words she kissed both his cheeks.

When she let go of his hands, Harry had to try hard not to shake himself like a wet dog. Silently he thanked his stars for having Fleur by his side; when he looked into her eyes, it felt as if waking from a trance.

"I have ordered the house elves to have dinner ready at eight," Isabeau went on in a completely different, businesslike tone. "Which leaves you some four hours. Why don't you show Harry everything, cherie?" she turned to Fleur.

"I'll come along, too!" Gabrielle shouted, jumping up and down.

"How often have I told you – this is no ladylike behaviour!" Isabeau reproached her younger daughter. "But – why not? Run along! I'll see you at dinner, Harry!"

When Harry and the two girls were alone, he took a deep breath.

"Your mother does have an overwhelming personality," he said, and his tone was only half joking. "I felt like I was drowning for a moment…"

"Yes, she does have that effect on most people," Fleur said, a note of anger in her voice. "She does it on purpose, I believe. It's her version of the veela charm."

"Don't you think she just can't help it? Isn't it in her nature, or something?"

"I'd have laughed at the idea half a year ago," Fleur replied thoughtfully. "But if I think how different she has been these last months, I'm not so sure, to say the truth. Perhaps she really HAS to behave like that. It doesn't matter, I guess – as long as you don't fall under that spell, that is."

"No way!" Harry said with much emphasis, pulling her towards him and kissing her. "Now I know what she's like, there is no danger of anything like that!"

Gabrielle was impatiently shoving them and so Fleur turned to her and shortly summed up what they had been talking about.

"Ah, not to worry, Fleur," she said dismissively. "Harry is strong enough to resist that. He resisted Imperius, remember? So Mama's charm should be a piece of cake, don't you think?"

Once again, Fleur had to agree with her sister.

"Come, Harry," she said, "let me show you around our home." And together the three of them set off, Harry's one arm around Fleur's waist, and Gabrielle tugging at his other hand.

"It's a very old house," Fleur told him. "It's been in my father's family for several centuries. The Delacours, as mother never tires mentioning, are one of the oldest wizarding families in France. Actually, they used to be purebloods, until my father, to the horror and disgust of the family, went and married a half-veela – and half-muggle, at that. They'd have disinherited him gladly, but unfortunately for them, he is the only son. And even worse than having the precious pure blood diluted was the idea of the family estate going to strangers."

"Where is your father, by the way?" Harry asked. "Isn't he here for Christmas, too?"

"I have no idea if we'll see him. He likes to keep in the background, rather, and he does a lot of travelling. Actually, I've often wondered how he ever plucked up the courage to defy all his family when marrying mother. I suspect she used the charm on him…"

"Well, perhaps there is more to him than meets the eye," Harry said slowly, thinking of Neville. "Perhaps he only shows his courage on occasions that really matter to him. Perhaps he really loves her…"

Fleur looked at him, surprised.

"Why, I think it may be possible. But it still won't explain why he is away so often… Well, I guess it isn't exactly important at the moment, is it? You are here – THAT'S important!"

Again, at Gabrielle's insistence, she had to tell her what they had been talking about.

"This is getting tedious," she said to Harry. "We need to put the _Translatio_ Spell on her soon."

"_Translatio_?"

"The Translating Spell. So she can understand and speak English. They used it on me before I went to Hogwarts. It has several levels, according to your age and capacity of mind."

"So that's why your mother's English is so perfect – without any trace of accent!"

"Yes, that would be the Proficiency level. I got it during the holidays, too. For Gabie, at her age, I suppose Elementary II will be a possibility…"

"Can you do that spell?"

"I'm not sure, it's very complicated. Better to ask mother to do it." She interpreted this conversation to Gabrielle and the little girl was all excited about the idea.

"But I'm sure I'm good enough for Advanced I!" she said eagerly.

"We'll see about that," Fleur told her fondly. "And we'll ask mama right after dinner."

Harry was amazed at the sheer vastness of the Delacours Mansion. But while the Burrow, small and cramped as it was, emanated an atmosphere of warmth and cosiness, the Mansion, with all its grandeur, gave a cold and haughty impression, the impression of a place where strict rules and a sense of propriety prevailed.

"I'm sure I'll get lost ever so often," he said as they walked up the stairs to the second or third floor (he had lost count). "It's a mercy your staircases don't keep moving as they do in Hogwarts."

"Just never walk around without me," Fleur told him with a warm smile.

"As if I ever would."

The Delacour house-elves had surpassed themselves, and Harry found he had never eaten anything even remotely like this dinner – even if he had no idea what most of the dishes were. Isabeau went out of her way to be particularly nice to him, so much so, in fact, that Fleur was beginning to get worried. Harry, however, showed no signs of reacting to her charms in any but the must polite and neutral way, and so her anxiety subsided again.

When, after the last course, Gabrielle insisted for Harry to come and play Exploding Snap with her, Fleur addressed her mother.

"I'm most grateful you invited Harry to stay and everything, I am sure," she began hesitantly. "But I – I don't know… what are you playing at, using that charm on him all the time?"

These last words came out in a hurry, and she stopped, surprised at herself.

"What charm, cherie?" Isabeau replied sweetly.

"You know exactly what I mean!" Fleur retorted angrily.

"Calm yourself, dear," her mother said with a superior smile. "I am certainly not going to try and steal your boyfriend from you. It wouldn't be appropriate, would it? But yes, I was testing him, I'll admit. And you may have seen yourself that, after the first shock, he could ward me off easily enough. I have to express my respect – it's not usual for a fifteen-year-old boy to resist that charm. And I must congratulate you, too, dear, he must really love you!"

It may have been her imagination, but Fleur thought she had heard a note of envy in her mother's voice; her anger melted away, and when her mother embraced her, she let it happen willingly.

After the _Translatio_ spell had been performed on Gabrielle – to everybody's surprise the Advanced level really worked on her ("I told you so!" she said triumphantly) – Fleur showed Harry to his room on the third floor.

"This is Gabie's," she pointed out, "and here is yours. And mine is next to it. Tomorrow, I'll show you the park and everything."

"And you'll have to teach me some flying, too," Gabrielle piped in, relishing in her new language abilities. "Fleur shouldn't always get to do the good things only!" Her accent was still pretty strong, but she found no problem in either speaking or understanding the foreign language.

"I will, if your mother allows me," Harry smiled at the little girl. Then he proceeded to hug Fleur and kiss her good-night, a feat that lasted a couple of minutes, until Gabrielle started to become impatient.

"Good night to you, too," she said very loudly.

"Oh, sorry," Harry said. "You do look sweet when you're pouting like that, do you know that?" And he bent down to kiss her cheek. "Good night."

"She's doing it on purpose," Fleur said when her sister had disappeared in her room, skipping happily along. "Almost like mama. I'll have to talk to her about that…"

"Ah, she's just a kid, don't be so hard on her. Well, so it's really good night now, isn't it?"

Reluctantly, he tore himself away from her and entered his room.

Although it was spacious, with a large window and elegantly furnished, the room, like the rest of the mansion conveyed none of the cosy feeling that Ron's tiny cubicle had. Moreover, there was the distinct impression that this room was normally unused.

He went over to the huge four-poster bed, noticed that his pyjamas had already been laid out for him and, only now realising that he was dead tired, got into them and then into bed. He closed his eyes.

"Sleep well!" he heard Fleur's voice in his mind, and he could have sworn her lips were on his for a short moment. But of course, when he opened his eyes, he was quite alone.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: A rather short chapter, but after reading it you'll know why. I promise to do my best to get out the next chapter soon. I have a lot of (hopefully) good ideas already. Thanks to all my faithful reviewers, you really keep me going. Those who are looking for some action from Voldemort's side – be patient, there is something in the bush already.

Chapter 31 First Day in France

After a deep and pleasant sleep, completely untroubled by any sort of dreams – or, at any rate, dreams that he remembered, - Harry woke to find bright sunlight streaming in through the high window. At first, he was thoroughly bewildered and it was only after a couple of seconds that he remembered where he was.

He was still fumbling for his glasses when something shook his bed.

"What-" he stammered, reaching for his wand in a reflex.

"Harry! Harry!" Gabrielle's voice wiped away the final veils of sleep from his mind. "Harry! Get up!"

When he had finally found his glasses, he saw the little girl standing next to his bed, smiling at him brightly. She was already wearing some jeans and a sweater and was carrying a broomstick.

"You promised to teach me how to fly, remember?" she said eagerly.

"But…"

"Gabie, you naughty girl!" Fleur's voice came from the door. "You can't barge in on Harry just like that!"

A moment later, she was on the other side of his bed, looking fresh and lovely in a blue satin dressing gown that matched her eyes.

"Good morning, my sunshine," she said as she bent down to kiss him lightly. "How do you feel?"

"On a morning like this? How can you even ask?" And he pulled her towards him for another kiss.

"Has this little goblin woken you?"

"I'm not a goblin!" Gabrielle shouted.

"Of course not, you're far too pretty," Harry told her. "No, I was just waking up, and the only thing she did was to speed it up a bit… So, if you just let me get out of bed and get ready, I'm ready to face whatever the day will bring."

"You'll find the bathroom over there," Fleur pointed. "I'll also get dressed now, and I'll meet you out in the corridor in half an hour, all right? And you-" she turned to her sister in a mock-threatening tone, "will just have to exercise the noble art of patience and wait until we are all ready. And it will do you good to have some breakfast, too, before starting anything else…"

"Let's go down to the kitchens for our breakfast," Fleur suggested when Harry joined the girls outside his room. "It's more comfortable than in the salon."

"Whatever you say," Harry agreed. "As long as you don't leave me to find my way around on my own."

"I won't, if you promise to be a good boy…"

The kitchens were not nearly as big as those at Hogwarts, naturally, but still Harry thought they were enormous for a single household. House elves were scuttling all over the place when they entered, all wearing what looked like pillow cases embroidered with the Delacour family crest. One of them hurried over to them at once, bowed low to them and asked for Fleur's orders.

"I suppose we'll just have a little of everything, right?" Fleur said to Harry, and proceeded to give the elf according instructions in French.

"Let's sit down here," she said and they went over to a table and a number of luxuriously upholstered chairs in a large bay window.

At a click of the elf's fingers the table was laid out with porcelain plates and silver cutlery, and at a number of further clicks, piles of various foodstuffs appeared.

"I'm afraid they don't know how to do an English breakfast, which, to be honest, I won't miss much," Fleur told Harry. "And I don't expect they'll be able to make proper English tea, either. But you won't exactly starve, will you?"

Harry looked at the table and shook his head.

"Even Ron wouldn't remain hungry here," he said with a grin. "Hermione would have a fit, though, looking at all these elves…"

Of course he now had to explain everything about Hermione's ideas concerning house elves to Gabrielle, who could not understand it at all.

"But it doesn't make sense," she said. "They _love_ working. They'd be lost if they couldn't work."

"It certainly looks like that to me," Harry agreed. "But tell that to Hermione – or, rather, don't. Well, at any rate, she couldn't find fault with their uniforms, they are neat and tidy enough."

The next minutes passed in silence while they were all attacking the supplies. Even Gabrielle seemed to have forgotten her eagerness to go flying, for the moment.

"Where's your mother?" Harry asked when they had finished eating and the elves had cleared the table.

"In Paris, most likely," Fleur said with a shrug. "Last-minute Christmas shopping, I expect. Which reminds me – would you like to go and see Paris, too?"

"I'll do whatever makes you happy; but first we should go in for some flying lessons, I suppose…"

The rest of the morning – the weather was mild and sunny, an unbelievable contrast after the last weeks at Hogwarts – was spent on their brooms, and once again Fleur was impressed and touched to see how skilfully Harry handled Gabrielle's flying ambitions. If it had not been for his seeker reflexes, she would have fallen off her broom more than once, but that did not put her off in the least.

"You do have a hand with children," Fleur said admiringly when, flushed and happy, they went into the mansion again.

"But she is really a very talented flyer," Harry replied. "And I had just as much fun showing you these tricks as you had," he went on to Gabrielle. "You just need to take it a tiny bit more slowly…"

"Not as long as you are there to catch me," the little girl replied with a cheeky grin. "How am I supposed to get any better otherwise? Oh, I can't wait to get to Beauxbatons and on the Quidditch team!"

Much to Fleur's surprise, Isabeau was in the salon when they went in for lunch.

"_Bon jour,_ Harry," she said, treating him to her most charming smile. "I hope you had a nice morning." If she disapproved of the broomsticks, she did not show. "I have a surprise for you all," she proceeded. "I have arranged a ball for tonight – in honour of you, the Triwizard champions…"

"Oh, mama," Fleur said, completely taken by surprise. "You can't – not in such a short time."

"Don't be silly, cherie," her mother replied smugly. "Of course I started making preparations as soon as I knew Harry was coming. You don't think anybody could attend at such short notice, do you?"

"Anybody?" Fleur inquired with dark feelings of foreboding.

"Of course. We'll have some fifty guests tonight. The Dulacs, the Montresors, even the minister says she believes she can find the time to look in for half an hour…"

Fleur looked at Harry anxiously, but to her relief he seemed to take the surprise rather well, at least, he did not show any immediate signs of panic.

"That's lovely, mama," she said a bit weakly.

"And I have some surprise visitors too," Isabeau added proudly. "Just wait… You will join us for dinner, Gabrielle," she went on, - "and you will be allowed to stay up until ten."

"Thank you mama!" the little girl squealed. "You will dance with me, Harry, won't you?"

"How could I ever not! If your sister doesn't kill me, that is," he answered with a wink at Fleur, who was so happy to see the news of a great social event in his honour did not seem to bother him at all that she let that remark go without commenting on it.

"Dinner starts at eight," Isabeau told them. "Be sure to be down here punctually. And be careful to look your very best."

"A ball!" Harry groaned when they left the lunch table. "I suppose everyone will goggle at me as if I was some exotic animal…"

"Oh Harry!" Fleur sighed, drawing him into a hug. "I really can imagine how you feel… Are you wishing you hadn't come already?"

"Nonsense. How could I wish to be away from you? It's only a couple of hours, isn't it? But-" a horrible thought came to him, "I have no idea about dancing!"

"Oh yes, indeed," Fleur said fondly. "I remember the Yule Ball… You weren't much of a dancer then, were you? Well, I suppose I can just teach you the basic steps of a dance or two this afternoon…"

"Well, if you put a good protection charm on your toes nothing much can go wrong, I believe…"

"But Harry, you don't imagine you'll just dance with me; you'll never get away with it. All the women will simply be queuing up for a dance with the famous Harry Potter. We'll be lucky to get more than four or five dances together… Oh, don't look so horrified; even if you do trample a couple of toes to pulp I bet nobody will even notice. Now, come here – the basic steps of the waltz are like this…"

A couple of hours later, with the help of Fleur's patient instructions and aided by a clever memory charm to make him remember the steps better, Harry felt something like confidence in view of the oncoming ordeal.

"Whatever would I do without you!" he said when he collapsed on a sofa next to Fleur. "How people manage to remember all those steps and kicks and whatever without a memory charm is beyond me. What weird minds can invent something like that? Thanks so much for teaching me, anyway."

"At last I've been able to teach YOU something, it's a relief indeed. And weird minds? No weirder than the minds of those who invented Quidditch and its rules… But I can tell you that you seem to have quite some talent for dancing, perfect sense of movement, and a very good feeling for rhythm. With some more practice you will become a very good dancer I'm sure. And then you might even enjoy it."  
"I'm ALREADY enjoying it," Harry told her, drawing her near to him. "But then, I'll enjoy ANYTHING as long as I can be doing it with you…"

"Thank you, Harry. Well, I believe you are ready to face whatever is in store for you this evening. I guess we'd better get dressed now. We are to look our very best, remember?"

Ah, it's easy for you, isn't it? You ALWAYS look your very best – in fact I can't imagine you can look anything else but, even if you tried, - but what about me? I haven't even got any decent set of robes or things to wear…"

"Harry! I never thought it would even matter to you! But if I know mother, I'm sure she'll have thought of something. Now let's get started. Come over to my room when you are ready."

Fleur had been right – when Harry entered his room, he saw a brand-new set of dress robes, complete with a white dinner jacket and an emerald-green silken bow-tie laid out on his bed.

Feeling thoroughly uncomfortable in his unwonted formal attire, Harry knocked on Fleur's door about an hour later.

"Come in!" came her muffled voice from inside.

When he entered, his first impression was one of violent chaos. What seemed to be discarded rags of a wide variety of colours and textures were strewn all over the room and it was only at a second glance that he realised these were all various sorts of garments, tried on and discarded again. Among these heaps of silk and satin Fleur was standing. She seemed finally to have made up her mind about her wardrobe, as she was just in the process of struggling into an avalanche of glittering pale green silk that reflected the lights of the candles in all the shades of the rainbow. This also explained her muffled voice.

"Ah, here you are, Harry," she said, her head emerging from the folds. "Just give me a hand with this, will you?"

Careful not to tread on the pieces of clothing on the floor, Harry made his way over to her.

"Here, see if you can get this closed," she told him, turning her back towards him. Harry pulled up the zipper, his fingers brushing lightly along her soft smooth skin. Fleur shivered slightly and a tiny almost inaudible sigh escaped from her lips.

"Thank you," she whispered, turning round and kissing him softly. Harry thought her eyes had never looked so deep and entrancing before. He felt he'd gladly drown in them.

The magic moment passed.

"How do I look?" Fleur said.

"As if you even needed to ask," Harry told her. The lines from Shakespeare came to his mind that he had been made to read in Professor Woods' experiment all those weeks ago.

Somehow, without being aware of it, this memory must have found its way into Fleur's mind, too. This time, though, she took it with a gleam of happiness in her eyes.

"Thanks, Harry; I may be a bit touchy on the subject, but a girl always likes to be told she looks good…

"_Good?_ I don't think there is a word in any language …"

And this was true of course. There was no way for Fleur _not_ to look _good_ even in her most dishevelled moments, after the Second Task, for example, and _gorgeous_ about described her normal appearance (if somewhat inadequately); now, however, there was indeed no known expression to do her even remote justice. The long skirts of her ball robes must have contained miles and miles of the softest glittering silk that was shimmering in different hues at her every movement. The tight fitting bodice left her shoulders bare and accentuated her slim figure in all the right places. A single sparkling sapphire on a delicate silver chain was the only piece of jewellery she wore. Her hair was cascading down to her waist in undulating waves, sparkling to rival the silk of her robes.

She was a vision – ravishing, enticing, but, as Harry couldn't help feeling, also slightly frightening.

He tried hard not to communicate that feeling to her, but of course it was no use – even without the mental link between them she would have realised it. But far from being hurt, she smiled at him brightly and hugged him.

"Oh Harry, what a relief!"

"What?" he asked stupidly.

"You see beyond all this, don't you? All this glimmer and glamour… It's not the real me…"

"I know it isn't. The real you is – I dunno, it's you on your broomstick, it's you splattered with dirt in that hospital bed, it's you being kind and understanding, it's…"

He faltered and just folded her in his arms.

"There," he said, releasing her quickly. "I can't even hug you like I want to, for fear of disturbing this work of art."

"A cold and lonely lovely work of art," Fleur mused. "That's how I used to feel before I found you…"

"Lovely? Oh yes, most certainly; but cold? Never!"

"And not lonely any more, either!" Fleur sighed happily, melting into a passionate kiss.


	32. Chapter 32

AN: Here is another chapter from yours truly – pretty fast this time, isn't it? Hope you like it. Read and review! Happy holidays to everyone, too!

**Chapter 32 A busy evening**

Fleur was just helping Harry with his obstinate bow-tie when the door opened and Gabrielle stormed into the room.

"I hate this dress!" she shouted as she slammed the door behind her. "I can't even move properly in all these skirts and frills!"

"But you look lovely," Harry told her. It wasn't even just a compliment, she did look cute in her knee-length billowy dress in dark-blue satin, her hair tied back in a neat ponytail with a matching silk ribbon. Her anger subsided at once at Harry's words.

"Do you really think so, Harry?" she beamed.

"You really look very sweet, and I mean it," Fleur said. "But if you hate this dress so much, I believe you can always excuse yourself and stay in your room. Tell mama you have a headache or something…"

"And leave you to dance with Harry all night? No way! You promised, Harry, you did!"

"As long as you don't mind your toes being squashed…"  
"I don't care. And I'm sure you are not half as bad at dancing as you pretend!"

"Well, I suppose we'd better get downstairs now," Fleur interrupted their exchange. "There has been a lot of coming and going this last hour or so; everybody will be there already, eagerly awaiting the appearance of the most wondrous creature called Harry Potter…"

"Ah, shut up," Harry told her. "We all know who the most wondrous creature really is, don't we? But let's go, anyway."

Fleur curtsied to Harry, batting her lashes in an exaggerated fashion.

"Yes. Will you kindly lend me your arm, my lord?"

When they came down the grand staircase a large number of people were milling about in the huge hall holding champagne glasses and conversing animatedly. There were robes and evening dresses in all shapes and colours imaginable, and diamonds and other jewels were glittering in earrings, necklaces and diadems. Needless to say, Isabeau was easily the most spectacular figure in the crowd, her silver-blond coiffure shining out like a beacon across the hall. She spotted them at once and clapped her hands.

The murmur died down and everybody turned to look at Harry and the two girls – or rather, as he was well aware, at him. For once, it seemed that even Fleur's breathtaking appearance was reduced to second place.

"_Mesdames e messieurs,_" Isabeau's voice rang out in the sudden silence, "our guest of honour, Mr. Harry Potter!"

Harry felt the strong urge to turn on his heels and escape up the stairs again, and he was thoroughly grateful for the reassuring pressure of Fleur's hand on his arm. Together they descended the remaining steps, where Isabeau met them accompanied by a thin woman with a long horse-like, tight-lipped face. Even Harry, who had no idea of tasteful clothing, could see that her purple dress-robes looked horrible.

"The Minister of Magic, Madam Sangfroid," Isabeau told Harry.

"Erm – glad to meet you," Harry stammered, feeling a limp slightly moist hand that reminded him of a dead animal in his own.

"Mr. Potter-" the Minister muttered, withdrawing her hand.

"I trust you will meet the other guests during the ball, Harry," Isabeau told him when the Minister had disappeared in the crowd. "Now for dinner!" she said aloud, and the large double doors to the salon opened. At a gesture from Isabeau, Harry took her arm and between mother and daughter entered the salon. Gabrielle was on Fleur's other side, trying hard not to skip in what her mother would have considered an extremely unladylike fashion.

A huge long table had been laid out in blinding white linen, shimmering porcelain and silver cutlery. Crystal goblets were sparkling in the light of hundreds of candles that were floating in the air above the table.

They sat down in the middle of the long table, facing the windows, Harry between Isabeau and Fleur. After a short moment of uncertainty, Gabrielle was allowed to sit at Fleur's other side. Another couple of minutes later, all the other guests were seated, the Minister directly opposite Harry. At a clap of Isabeau's hands the dishes appeared, and for a while everybody was busy doing justice to the house-elves cooking.

As Harry had expected – and feared – during dessert (a delicious affair of dark and white mousse au chocolat garnished with assorted berries marinated in Grand Marnier) the conversation turned to the topic he wished to avoid most – the Tournament.

"So, Monsieur Potter," the Minister began, "There have been the strangest rumours about the events of the Triwizard Tournament. Would you be so kind and tell us all what really happened? How did you manage to trick a powerful magical object like the Goblet and enter your name?"

Harry felt his anger rising, and Fleur, sensing he was about to explode, put a consoling hand on his thigh below the table.

"_Quiet, Harry,_" her voice was in his mind. "_It's not worth it. Just tell her some stupid lie or other; you won't be able to convince her…_"

He breathed deeply.

"_I'll try_," he replied silently. "_Won't spoil the evening for you because of an old hag_…"

"Well," he replied carefully. "I did NOT trick anything or anybody. And if I had, I could never admit it, for obvious reasons… So I must insist that there was no trickery involved whatsoever and therefore it must have been some unexplained malfunction of the Goblet, which, as everybody says, is extremely unlikely, or, as Headmaster Dumbledore believes, someone else – a highly accomplished wizard, not me, a fourteen-year-old boy, obviously, - has tampered with it…"

"And that other champion? He was killed, wasn't he? How did it happen?"

So Harry proceeded to describe what had happened in the graveyard, but left out any allusion to Fleur's role in the event. Everybody listened quietly without a single interruption.

"That's what I remember, anyway," he finished his tale. "But there are some people who think I have been dreaming or having hallucinations or something. I have no way of proving them wrong. Indeed, I'd much prefer their explanation to mine…"

There was a short silence.

"_Oh, Harry, that was ingenuous!"_ Fleur was full of admiration

Minister's drab face contorted into a repulsive smirk

"Ah," she said, sounding extremely satisfied. "So you concede yourself that it may all have been some kind of hallucination. Overwrought imagination, I daresay… And an unfortunate accident. Unfortunate, yes, but just an accident, nevertheless. And accidents will happen. EXACTLY what Minister Fudge told me. I'm really very obliged to you Monsieur Potter for clearing it all up. And now, if you'll excuse me, there is some urgent business I have to attend to…"

With these words she rose from her seat, bowed stiffly and disapparated before Harry, who was starting to seethe inwardly again, had a chance to say anything. He was certain that, had it not been for Fleur's soothing mental messages, he would have started to scream.

When the desserts were finished, at another clap of Isabeau's hands, a curtain at one end of the salon rose and revealed a group of musicians. They were very different from those that had played at the Yule Ball at Hogwarts last year: clad in immaculate dress robes, their instruments were violins, a harp, a horn and a piano.

"Let the dance begin!" Isabeau called out and the musicians started to play. "You will open he ball with me, Harry, won't you?" she said to Harry, and it was not a question.

However, it was perhaps all for the best. Isabeau was the most excellent dancer, but while his practice with Fleur had always been interrupted by giggles, fond embraces and an occasional kiss, this was a very different, serious affair. Whether it was by some aspect of her Veela nature or not, she had a way of conveying a feeling for the music and the rhythm to him that exceeded what he had experienced with Fleur. He felt himself literally soaring through the room, and when the dance ended he couldn't say whether his dizziness resulted from the fast dance itself, the scent of her perfume or the feeling of her soft yet firm body pressed against his.

He did not get much time to catch his breath; true to Fleur's prediction, almost each single female in the room seemed to be eager to dance with him. Thankfully, though, none of them were in any respect equal to Isabeau Delacour, and he managed to go through the motions of the waltzes and foxtrots without too much exhaustion.

When he had – quite gratefully – let go of the third or fourth middle-aged witch, Gabrielle, who had been waiting for a moment like that with growing impatience, tugged at his sleeve.

"Now it's my turn," she insisted. "You promised, Harry!"

"Of course," he said, and added under his breath, "A nice change after those hags." At which the little girl fell into an uncontrollable fit of giggles.

The next dance was something that Harry vaguely remembered to be from South America, though for the life of him he couldn't have told whether it was rumba, samba, or something else. He was happy enough to be able to perform some sort of regular pattern of steps according to the rhythm. It was a good feeling to be hopping around to the sound of the music, just for the fun of it, after what had felt like hard work during the last twenty minutes or so. And Gabrielle's obvious enjoyment added to his happiness.

There was an interval after that dance, during which Gabrielle was sent off to bed, still glowing with excitement. And skilfully dodging more of his female admirers, Harry secured Fleur as his partner for the next dance.

Of course they had been in each other's arms before, but this time was different. The music seemed to weld them together, make them one as nothing ever had; he forgot everything around him and willingly submitted to this new feeling. And very much unlike his experience with Isabeau, this dance was pure bliss, boundless joy.

"This is better than Quidditch!" he whispered in Fleur's ear, a comment that made her blush with happiness. Of course she knew what Quidditch meant to him, and therefore she could appreciate what he was trying to tell her.

All too soon the dance was over, and they only reluctantly let go of each other.

"Do you hate it very much?" Fleur asked him, trying to steer Harry away from the crowd.

"Do you know – I don't think I do now. One dance with you will outweigh any number with those old hags."

She smiled at him happily.

"Just don't let mother hear you…"

"Erm – I didn't mean – well, she's not…"

"Yes?"

"I mean, she's not an old hag, obviously… But that dance with her – it was work, rather than anything else…"

"How well I understand you!"

There was another intermission in the music programme, during which sandwiches and champagne were offered.

"So you are really convinced the Dark Lord has returned?"

"What?"

Harry turned round in surprise. A tall woman with long thick dark hair that was falling down to her shoulders was standing before him. She was well past her youth, but the pale face with the full lips and pitch black eyes under heavy lids was still attractive in a somewhat sinister way. There was no trace of a foreign accent in her English.

"Even though everyone believes you were dreaming? Well, I believe you, for one."

"Thanks," Harry said, bewildered. "Yes, Voldemort has come back indeed."

A spasm flew over the woman's face.

"You dare say his name!" The tone of her voice was strange.

"Of course. Don't see why not. He's been my most intimate enemy for years, hasn't he?"

"But – aren't you afraid? The most powerful wizard of today – and you, a mere boy? Do you really think you stand a chance?" The black eyes seemed to be ablaze as she said it.

"Well, I survived five times, didn't I? But why do you believe my story, if I may ask?"

The woman seemed torn between fury and fascination. She did not, however, answer his question directly.

"We all knew the Dark Lord would come back one day. And it's only the weak that will not acknowledge it and prefer to close their eyes. But their awakening will be terrible!"

Harry thought the light in her eyes had taken on a distinctly mad gleam, and he felt a coldness run down his spine.

"You almost sound as if you were enjoying the idea…"

But the woman did not reply. With an energetic twist of her head she turned and was soon lost in the crowd.

"Scary," Fleur said quietly.

"Definitely. Nutty, but scary, too. Wonder who she is. I have a feeling that I might have come across her somewhere before, but I have no idea when and where."

"I can't say. I've never seen her before. Shall I ask mother?"

"No, I daresay it doesn't matter. And I'd much rather have you here with me, anyway."

Just as the musicians were going to pick up their instruments and Harry saw another middle-aged witch make her way towards him, there was the popping sound of Apparating, and Vivienne Delisle materialised.

Stunned for a second or two, Fleur let out a sound of delight.

"Grandma!"

She rushed over to hug her.

"Don't give my double life away, cherie," Vivienne whispered to her, returning her embrace. "And won't you introduce me to Harry? We have not met before, remember?"

So Fleur dashed over to Harry to take his hand and draw him towards her grandmother.

"So this is Harry Potter," Vivienne said seriously, and Fleur had to hide her smile. "I have so wanted to meet you at last. The way you saved Fleur from that dementor – I still don't understand it."

"Nor do I," Harry replied. "In fact I'm not even sure it was anything to do with me at all…"

"Ah, modesty in young people! A rare thing these days. But of course it must have been you, nothing else would make any sense. I hope to be able to discuss it with you tomorrow, Harry. Perhaps we can find out how you did it."  
"If Dumbledore himself has no idea how it worked? Fat chance!"

"Ah, but Dumbledore-" Vivienne checked herself hastily. "I mean, Dumbledore is a great wizard, but perhaps Veela intuition has a more promising approach than wizarding logic. But now you must excuse me, I really must talk to my granddaughter; after all, I haven't seen her for four months, have I?"

She put an arm round Fleur's shoulder and steered her towards one of the doors.

The commotion that had been stirred by Vivienne's appearance was just calming down, and the musicians again reached for their instruments, when a tall dark-haired young man came up to Harry.

"So it's you," he said, his voice hard and his expression grim.

"Yes, it's me," Harry replied, bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

"I am Patrice Dulac," the other said curtly, as if that explained everything.

"Harry Potter," Harry said, still completely at a loss. "But I guess you know that already. So, - erm – Patrice, what can I do for you?"

"Don't trifle with me! You know exactly what I mean!"

"Honestly, I have no idea. And _trifle_? What's cooking got to do with it?"

The other's face reddened.

"She rejected me – me, Patrice Dulac! – for you!" he growled. This is not anything a Dulac will accept!"

Something Fleur had told him about some time or other dawned on Harry.

"But – my dear Patrice, that was even before she ever met me! This is ridiculous!"

"Me – ridiculous! Nobody says that to a Dulac!"

"Well, seems I just said it," Harry, who was beginning to feel irritated, replied dryly. Of course, this did not exactly calm down his opponent.

"You will give me satisfaction for this insult!" Patrice shouted, causing all the others to turn towards them.

"I don't think I can do that," Harry answered, smiling, "seeing how wrought up you are…"

"I mean – a – a duel!"

"Ah, why didn't you say so right away? All right, if it makes you happy-"

Harry whipped out his wand and pointed it at the other boy. "This is where we bow, I believe…"

Patrice's face had taken on a sickly greenish hue.

"No," he gasped. "Magical duelling is forbidden in France. The conventional muggle way of duelling…"

"Pistols?"

"Of course not; I'm talking about the cavalier's duel – fencing."

The way he said it, Harry had the impression Patrice expected him to have no idea what the word even meant.

"Well, if you insist," Harry, remembering the lessons at Grimauld Place, told him calmly. "Anything to make you happy…"

If he was taken aback by Harry's reaction Patrice did not show it. With a wave of his wand he conjured up a pair of fencing foils and tossed one to Harry.

"En garde!"

The next minutes were filled with an ever faster exchange of attack, foil and riposte.

During these events, Fleur and Vivienne were talking in the neighbouring room.

"I'm so happy you could make it, grandma!" Fleur told her enthusiastically. "How does it feel to be your true self again?"

"It's nice, I have to admit that. I never got used to seeing my image in the mirror. And do you know, the stupid thing kept telling me how gorgeous I looked!"

"Perhaps Hogwarts mirror can see through Polyjuice Potion?"

"If they do, I've never heard of it. No, I expect that mirror just wanted to be polite. – It's soo good not to have to play the strict teacher for a change! Harry looks extremely good, I can tell you that. You are a lucky girl, Fleur."

When Fleur told her about Isabeau testing her Veela charms on Harry, Vivienne laughed.

"So exactly like her, isn't it? And he could block her out? A job well done. I really should have a go at him myself…"

"Grandma!"

"Only to see how strong his powers are, of course, cherie. What do you think of your old feeble grandmother?"

"Ah, fishing for compliments, are we? Whatever; I'm sure he'll resist you just as easily. Give it a try if you must. How is Dumbledore?" she added with a wink.

"He was perfectly fine when I left Hogwarts an hour ago. Why shouldn't he be? It's only a couple of hours since you left."

"You know what I mean… How long will you be able to stay?"

"Not too long; there is the big Christmas dinner the day after tomorrow, and I have to be back at least a day before it to get my appearance back. Albus has asked me especially to attend, and of course I can't let him down…"

"Of course not. I – "

She stopped herself suddenly.

"What is it cherie?"

"Harry!"

She made a dash to the door, followed by Vivienne, and tore it open. The sight before her caused her to pale with shock.

Patrice, as Harry had soon realised, was quite an expert fencer, he might have lacked Harry's Quidditch reflexes, but he easily made up for that by his experience and technique. And when the point of the other's rapier slit the sleeve of his jacket open Harry realised that they were fencing with sharp weapons; it was clear now that the affair was a lot more serious than he had thought. It was then that his mind, unconsciously, had sent out the message that had made Fleur rush into the salon again.

"_Imbeciles!_" she yelled from the door, and "_Floreatur!"_ Viviennes's voice sounded immediately after. A cloud of pink mist enveloped the rapiers for a moment, and they were suddenly bunches of roses.

Both Harry and Patrice glanced down at heir hands rather stupidly, as Fleur came hurrying though the crowd towards them.

"What are you thinking?" she stormed at them. "Of all the stupid idiotic ideas! What's it all about, anyway?"

"I challenged him," Patrice said defiantly, throwing his flowers to the floor in disgust.

"But WHY for Morgaine's sake?"

"How can you ask? I brook no rivals!"

Revelation dawned upon Fleur.

"Oh, THAT? What an idea! You never… Ah, it's just too ridiculous! Come along Harry!"

She took Harry's arm but could not resist the temptation to kiss him long and passionately, while giving Patrice a challenging look.

"See?" she said and led Harry away from his opponent, who was left standing there dumbfounded.

"Honestly, Harry," Fleur said soon after. "What WERE you thinking you were doing? He could have injured you or even…" she stopped, too frightened at her own thought. "I never knew you had any idea about fencing at all," she continued, somewhat obliquely.

"I practised in summer," Harry said, and told her all about Porthos and the lessons he had given them. "I never expected I'd need these lessons so soon," he finished with a grin.

"He IS a crazy bloke, though, that Patrice, isn't he?" He said at last.

"Obviously. I never thought he'd behave like that, and more than a year after that stupid visit to the café! What can have made him to lose it like that? It's not normal…"

Harry shrugged.

"Well, I'm still in one piece, aren't I?"

"But to think what could have happened! Couldn't you just have ignored him?"

"Erm – I – I didn't realise he was that serious about it… and when I did, it was a bit too late. But there's no harm done, after all, that's what matters, isn't it?"

"Oh Harry! Sometimes you just can't take things seriously!" Fleur sighed.

"On the contrary – there are some things I take VERY seriously!" Harry replied and kissed her.


	33. Chapter 33

A/N: The new chapter took a bit longer than I thought, but here it is, at last. It's a bit shorter than usual, but when you get there, you will understand why it has to end where it does. Things start to move now! Enjoy!

**Chapter 32 Morning surprises**

After a sleep filled with dreams in which he was duelling with a mysterious hooded figure whose face he could not see, but whose voice sounded familiar, even if he could not understand what it was saying, Harry woke up, feeling slightly groggy. The champagne his hostess had made him drink as an invigorating draught after the duel with Patrice had obviously not been a good idea.

Before he had quite finished gathering his wits and while he was still groping for his glasses, he felt a bump on his bed, and a moment later Fleur's lips were on his.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she whispered, pulling him into her arms and snuggling up to him. "I just couldn't wait…" she purred into his ear, and her warm breath sent a tingle down his neck.

"No, leave those glasses," she murmured softly when he reached out for them again. "Just relax…"

Her hands started moving tenderly, and her lips claimed his once again. Drowsy from the scent of her hair and the warmth of her body, Harry responded likewise. As if following a will of their own his hands began to explore, wandering up and down, caressing…

Fleur gave a small contented sigh and as she wriggled still closer, Harry felt some corner of fabric slide and his hand touched bare skin.

He jerked his hand away as if burned. Only now he became quite conscious of the situation: In a strange house, in his pyjamas, in bed with a girl – not any girl, at that, but the most gorgeous girl imaginable, - and, Merlin! a girl in some silken garment, so thin that – and this was another thing that he was suddenly extremely aware of – he could feel each and every contour of her supple body in tantalising and delicious detail.

"Fleur, I-"

"Shh, darling, just leave it to me…"

Her hands slipped under his pyjama jacket and crawled slowly, teasingly, up his chest. Harry shivered, the urge just to allow himself to melt into the chaos of sensations her touch triggered was overwhelming…

"No!" he suddenly shouted and pushed her away forcefully. Blindly he grabbed for his wand under his pillow, pointed it at the girl straddling him.

"Finite Incantatem!"

Even though Harry couldn't see her clearly without his glasses on, there was no way he could have missed the shudder that went through Fleur's body as the spell hit her.

"_Que-?_"

A wide range of emotions was in that single syllable: confusion, fear, surprise, embarrassment.

"Harry!" she almost screamed a second later and scrambled off the bed. "I – what-?"

"I don't know what happened," Harry said, sitting up and pulling her into his arms, all his sensations of a few seconds before completely wiped out by his concern for her. "But I knew there must be something wrong… The way you were behaving - and – and the way that made me feel…, so I reached out to your mind to – I don't know – to share those feelings, I suppose - but – but you – you just were not there - there was nothing… So I just knew it wasn't you… and I'd never … I mean - erm – not that I didn't like what you were doing…"

Blushing furiously (which Harry, lacking his glasses, could not see, however) Fleur said,

"I – I don't know what… I mean… what made me do that… oh, Harry, I feel so embarrassed…"

"No need to be… my guess would be that you were under some spell… Finite Incantatem did the trick, didn't it?"

"But – but who… and why…?"

"I've no idea. But we should try and find out, shouldn't we?"

"Indeed," she said grimly. "If I ever do …"

In the meantime, Harry had got out of his bed and found his glasses. Now that he could look at Fleur properly at last, it quite took his breath away: Shimmering in silver shades much like her hair, her flimsy slightly transparent nightie that ended _very_ high up her thighs gave a completely new meaning to the term _revealing._

He pulled himself together, tore his eyes from her bare slender legs and looked her straight in the eyes.

"Exactly," he said with conviction. "And I'll help you."

"Not good," Vivienne said slowly, "not good at all."

They had agreed that their best option was to ask Fleur's grandmother's advice, and so – after Fleur had changed into some less alluring attire and Harry had also put on his jeans and shirt – they had found her and told her what had happened.

"Obviously," Fleur said, slightly irritated. "If someone could hex me like that, and in our own house…"

"You don't think it could have been that guy – Patrick, or something?" Harry asked.

"Patrice?" Fleur couldn't help but smile to herself. "He'd gladly have hexed _you_, I'm sure. And perhaps me, too – but_ certainly_ not like that! What would have been the sense of it all? He wants me for himself, doesn't he?"

"So it could have been just about anybody at yesterday's party…" Harry mused. "The minister, for example…"  
"I doubt her magical skills are that good," Vivienne said sarcastically. "Ministers aren't usually elected for their magical abilities, quite the opposite, rather… No, whoever did that, must be a very accomplished witch or wizard. And unscrupulous, too…"

"What sort of spell was it, do you think?" Fleur inquired.

"Well, there aren't so many possibilities, are there?"

"You don't mean – _Imperius_?"

"It very much looks like it, doesn't it? No _Confundus_, obviously, nor any inhibition-reducing charm, either…"

"Inhibition-reducing?"

"_Oui, ma chere. _A spell allowing you to do what you have always wanted to do, but never dared…"

Fleur blushed.

"But from what Harry tells us," Vivienne continued, ignoring it, "we can exclude that… So, yes, _Imperius_ seems to be it, I'm afraid."

"But – WHY, grandma?"

"Ah yes, why indeed? It doesn't seem to make sense, does it? But then, think of it: What would have happened if Harry had not stopped you?"

"I – I'd – I suppose I-"

"Exactly. You would have ended up having sex together. Not _making love_, mind you – and that's what makes all the difference. No doubt the spell would have ceased immediately afterwards, or, if the person who cast it was especially cruel, right in the middle of the act… And now imagine, if you can, how you would have felt…"

All colour left Fleur's face, and she looked at her grandmother horrified.

"Yes, _ma petite_," Vivienne said gently. "That would have been the end of it all, wouldn't it? No marrying of fire and water after _that_…"

Harry reached out for Fleur's hand; she was shaking. There was a long silence.

"But – but that means they know about that prophecy," Harry said at last. "Whoever _they_ are…"

"Well, not such a huge range of choice here, is there?" Vivienne said dryly. "If only we knew who actually cast the curse!"

"Wait! How about that weird woman yesterday evening? She did seem to have a thing for the Dark Lord, didn't she?"

"But Harry, wasn't she _too_ obvious?"

"Weird woman?" Vivienne asked. And so they had to tell her about the strange encounter of last evening.

"Weird indeed," Vivienne said, when they had finished their description. "But a possibility, certainly."

She took out her wand and pointed it at Harry's head. "Do you mind if I extract that memory from your mind to store it in this pensieve?"

Harry shook his head. Of course he knew in theory how a pensieve worked, but experiencing it personally was a very different matter.

With a few waves of her wand, Vivienne extracted the typical silvery thread from Harry's head and put it away in the small pensieve.

"So let's see now," she said looking into the basin interestedly. "Yes, there are you, Fleur, and

there is that woman talking to Harry. "Hmm – I have a feeling I have seen that face somewhere – much younger then… so it's been years … Suppose she was one of Voldemort's followers when he was at the height of his powers – has been in hiding since his fall, and has now joined him again and got orders from him to curse you… It would certainly make sense…"

"Don't you think your mother will know who she was? She must have invited her…" Harry asked Fleur.

"Not necessarily. If she was there at the banquet, then, yes, she'll have had an invitation; but pretty much anybody could have attended the ball afterwards. But there's certainly no harm asking. We ought to tell her what happened, anyway."

Vivienne agreed that this would be a good idea.

"Not that I expect anything will come of it," she added. "If that woman really was an agent of Voldemort's, I am quite sure she will have covered her tracks extremely well, but you never know. So perhaps you might just as well go and ask. In the meantime I'll contact Dumbledore; he was involved in all the trials, perhaps he knows who that mysterious woman is."

"You know Dumbledore?"

"Er – yes, naturally. Everybody knows him. He is the chief authority on anything to do with the Dark Lord…"

"You did _what_?" Isabeau exclaimed incredulously.

"Yes, mother," Fleur said, and there was a note of pride in her voice. "I don't remember it all too clearly … I suppose I was using whatever Veela talents are in me to seduce Harry. But he quite literally threw me off."

"Truly amazing," Isabeau said thoughtfully, and the way she looked at Harry was strange. "An average teenage boy would hardly resist a temptation like that from a simple muggle girl, let alone … What made you do it?" She inquired, turning to Harry.

"Er- it's hard to explain… I just felt it was not her… her mind seemed to be completely blank… And so I knew there must be something wrong… As there was, obviously."

"But it's impossible! Are you sure you were not just sleep-walking? It's not as if-"

"Mama!" Fleur exclaimed, turning deep red.

"All right, all right, no need to shout like that. If you are really sure… But ten it remains a complete mystery to me. Are you really telling me someone put Imperius on you?"

"Grandma thinks so."

"But in our own house! Who on earth …"

"There was that strange woman that talked to us-" Harry told her and gave her a description and a short summary of the conversation. "Do you have any idea who she was?"

"Penthesilee Lacurieux, from your description of her. She used to be French Ambassador to the Wizengamot, but I had not seen her for some fifteen years. She suddenly turned up last week and told me she had been abroad, doing research work in Tibet… When I mentioned the ball, she insisted on coming. It did seem strange, now I think of it – she has never been any particular friend of mine… But I can't imagine – she can't be an agent of _Vous-savez-qui_, can she? It seems so absurd… I'll admit that conversation sounds weird, but isn't that exactly a reason why she can't be? Why draw attention to herself like that?"

"Can you think of anybody else, mama?"

"Of course not. I wouldn't have people like that in my house, would I? Perhaps someone invisible…?"

"But how would they have got past the wards?"

"I will check on the wards right away. But in my opinion it's always more likely that someone sneaked in than that one of the guests …"

"Good. No harm in checking the wards. And we'll see what Dumbledore has to say about it all. Perhaps he recognises that – what was it? – Lacurieux woman?"

"You are telling Dumbledore?"

"Grandma is. She thinks if anybody can bring some light into this, it's him."

"Good morning, Vivienne," Dumbledore said, surprised, when she stepped out of the fireplace in his office. "I didn't count on seeing you again so soon; not that I'm not always glad to…"

His smile vanished when he saw her expression.

"Bad news, Albus," she said gravely. "They have cursed Fleur…"

She proceeded to tell him about the events of the morning.

"I've always known Harry was special," Dumbledore said earnestly. "But it's always a new surprise to see how strong he can be. Just picture another teenage boy in his situation… But who-?"

Vivienne set the pensieve on the desk.

"I didn't want to embarrass the poor girl even more by storing Harry's memory of it in there. But you should see if you have any idea who the mysterious woman could be. I have a feeling she looks familiar, but I couldn't say…"

Dumbledore bent over the basin watching intently. Presently he held his breath, peering ever more closely, his nose almost touching the surface.

"No, it can't be! This is – But – She's in Azkaban! Been there for years and years! Ever since…"

"The trials, yes. I thought she looked familiar. Who is she, Albus?"

"But you'll surely remember her – Voldemort's most loyal follower, and one of the cruellest Death Eaters ... one of the very few that never tried to wriggle their way out of it. Always proud and fierce during the trials, never pretended to have been hexed, or to be sorry for anything. And there was such a lot she ought to be sorry for…"

"Of course! How could I ever have forgotten her! It's-"

"Exactly," Dumbledore said, and there was an unusual steely edge to his normally kind and quiet voice. "_Very_ bad news indeed. So we have to accept that she has found a way out from Azkaban – well at least one person has done so before, so we shouldn't be too surprised, I suppose."

"What do we do now?"

"Several things. I'll have to try and convince the Minister that the top security prisoner must have escaped – although I am not sure that I will succeed. Politicians can be extremely stubborn…"

"Don't I know it!" Vivienne said with feeling. "Stubbornness seems to be the prime qualification for the job. And I suppose I'll try something similar with OUR Minister?"

"Indeed. Apart from that, I'll send someone trustworthy to Azkaban to look around… We'd better try to find out how she managed to get out of there. – Also, Harry and Fleur need to learn who they are up against, to be particularly vigilant."

"Do you think they should come back? They'd be safer here, wouldn't they?"

"Well – I don't believe another attempt is very likely, now that one has failed. Moreover, you will be there to keep an eye on everything… I'd hate to break up Harry's holiday…"

"What now?" Harry asked, after Fleur's mother had left to check the wards of the mansion.

"Believe it or not," Fleur said with a smile, "I'm hungry."

"So am I, now that you mention it. Let's wake up Gabrielle and grab some breakfast from the house elves. I'm surprised she isn't up already clinging to me like lichen."

"Yes, normally she is up rather early, especially when something exciting like Harry Potter is around. I expect she is tired from yesterday's ball. It was rather late for her when she went to bed."

So they went up to Gabrielle's room.

"Let's surprise her," Harry suggested. "Tickle her, or something."

Slowly and noiselessly they opened the door.

The room was like most little girls' room (although Harry didn't know about that, naturally). The curtains were drawn, casting the room in a dim light; various toys were scattered across the desk and the floor, the shelves were stacked with perhaps an unusual number of books, pictures of various animals of the fluffy kind were on the walls; the dress Gabrielle had worn the evening before was neatly hung in the wardrobe.

The hangings of the white four-poster were closed. Careful not to make any noise, Harry drew them back.

The bed was empty.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34 In the enemy's lair

The bed showed no sign of having been slept in, it was neatly laid out, just like the house elves must have left it some time during the previous day. A yellow toy tiger was softly purring on the pillow.

For a moment, both of them were speechless, then Fleur grabbed Harry's arm so tightly it hurt.

"Harry!" she whispered, her voice shaking. "Can she – do you think they -," Her voice broke, tears surged in her eyes.

Harry understood only too clearly what she was trying to say. The room looked so perfectly normal and peaceful; it seemed unbelievable that anything terrible could have happened here. Yet, after this morning's experience, he was prepared to believe the worst. But he found himself equally at a loss for words. So he just pulled the trembling girl towards him silently.

After a few moments, Fleur was the first to speak again.

"Of course," she said with an effort at a lighter tone that failed miserably, "she could just… oh, who am I fooling? Something's happened to her! Oh, Harry!"

She sank down on the bed, burying her face in her hands. Harry sat down beside her and put his arm round her shoulders.

The toy tiger went on purring.

"Ah, shut up!" Fleur groaned irritably and snatched up the fluffy animal.

Too late, they recognised the familiar sensations in their stomachs.

"It's a-" Fleur gasped.

Her head was aching, and her mouth felt dry. When Gabrielle opened her eyes, she had to blink a few times before she became aware that she was not in her familiar room. When she tried to move, a clinking sound penetrated into her consciousness, and gradually she took in her situation. Still wearing her pyjamas, she was lying on a hard wooden surface, her arms stretched out above her head, and when she tried to move them again, she realised there were chains fastened to her wrists and to her ankles.

She screamed.

"Ah, my sleeping beauty is awake at last," an oily voice outside her field of vision sounded.

With an extreme effort, Gabrielle pushed back her panic.

"Who are you?" she demanded, trying hard to suppress the fear in her voice. "Where am I?"

"My, my, ever so curious," the oily voice wheedled. "You are with Uncle Peter. And Uncle Peter is very fond of little girls… But little girls must be nice to Uncle Peter, or they will be punished…"

A man's face bent over hers, and Gabrielle recognised him at once. Strangely enough, her fear subsided at the memory. That small insignificant man couldn't really be dangerous, could he?

"Where am I?" she repeated, sounding a bit more confident. "What do you want with me?"

An ugly smile appeared on the man's face.

"Ah, my dear, it's that veela pride showing, isn't it? Actually, there are quite few things I could want with you…"

"Let me go!"

"Well, I'm afraid that's one of the few things I can't do…"

"Fleur will find me, and then-,"

"Your sister, yes? Oh, I'm looking forward to her, actually… the more the merrier, don't you think? In fact, it can't be long now…"

When the dizziness had cleared, their eyes took a few moments to adapt to the dim light in the room they found themselves in.

"-Portkey!" Fleur finished her sentence.

"Well," Harry said, and it did not sound very intelligent. "Why do I have a feeling this has happened to me before?"

"I'm sorry," Fleur said in an involuntary whisper. "I shouldn't-,"

"Nonsense! How could you have known? And, you know … I'd hate to think you'd have touched that portkey without my arm round you… I guess that's what they counted on… At least we are in this together… Now, what's this place?"

Harry had, with the speed of his Quidditch reflexes, whipped out his wand, even before the effects of the portkey had completely worn off. However, there did not seem to be any immediate danger. They were in what seemed to be the basement of an old building. The walls were of roughly hewn blocks of stone, with a dirt floor, and a small barred window high up one wall, right below the vaulted ceiling. A heavy wooden door, reinforced with iron bands was in the wall opposite the window. Several rusty iron rings were fixed to the walls.

They were silent for a few moments, taking in their surroundings.

"At least there's no reception committee," Harry said, lowering his wand. "Either they didn't expect anybody to arrive just yet, or –,"

"Or they are pretty sure nobody can get out of here," Fleur replied slowly. "Which is exactly what we should try to do right now. Not that I expect it will be easy…"

"Good idea," Harry agreed.

He pointed his wand at the door.

"Alohomora!"

Nothing happened.

"I'm not surprised," Fleur stated dryly. "This would have been _too_ simple. Reducto!"

The red sparks made the door shudder and creak on its hinges, but that was all.

"It's wood, isn't it?" Harry muttered. "So, let's see… Inflammare!"

The flames lasted for a minute or so, but died without any visible effect on the door.

"How about Apparating?" Harry suggested.

"Worth a try, I suppose, but don't get your hope up too high on it."

And indeed, apart from a slight sense of disorientation, there was no result.

"So – I guess we'll just have to wait and see," Harry aid slowly. Sooner or later someone must come along…"

"Oh Harry," Fleur said despondently. "Where are we? And who did all that?"

"Well, I feel there is not so much doubt about _that,_" Harry replied grimly. "But I'll give you three guesses if you like… At least, there is quite a good chance Gabrielle is not very far off…"

"Do you really think so?" A thought struck her and she took hold of her wand again. "Relocare!" And she told him how the Veela hair in her wand would help them find Gabrielle. The tug in the silvery glowing wand appeared immediately.

"So she is really here somewhere… Oh, Harry, I hope they haven't hurt her! If we could only get out of here!" She ended desperately.

"Well, we've tried everything – hey, there's one thing more! That window – a human couldn't get through the bars, but – yes, that's a chance! If you transform into an owl, you should be able to get through easily enough. And then you could get help!"

"But Harry – I can't leave you here, I couldn't possibly!"

She threw her arms round his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Harry stroked her hair soothingly.

"It's the only choice we have," he said.

"But if – if – Vol-," her voice broke off in a sob.

"Well, I've been lucky before, haven't I?" he tried to joke. "Besides, if they really wanted to – you know – they'd have had the best opportunity to get us right on our arrival. No, Fleur, you just have to give it a try. It's the only chance we have. And – there's no use letting them get both of us. Someone simply _must_ try and get help. And as things are, that one is you."

_Not that I'd leave you in this place if I could get out,_ he thought, forgetting that she could easily read his mind.

"Oh, Harry, you stupid idiot!" Fleur sobbed. "You just want to get me to safety, don't you?"

"Well, even if I won't deny this is an added convenience," Harry said with a mirthless grin, "It's not the main thing. We can't hope to get out of this on our own, and it seems the only one who can get help is you. And remember – you're not doing this for you or for me, it's Gabrielle you have to think of, too. So, the sooner you get on your way, the better. Off with you, love!"

It was the first time he had called her _love_, and it gave Fleur's heart quite a jolt.

"You are right, of course," she whispered after a long passionate kiss. "It's her we want to help. Oh, Harry, be careful!"

She released him from her embrace reluctantly.

"Good-bye Harry," she said, her voice breaking. "I'll be back as soon as I can!"

Concentrating shortly, she changed into her owl form and, with a mournful hoot, fluttered up and out of the window.

The window led into a narrow back alley with a mud surface, lined by high stone walls. The shy overhead was a steely grey, and the air was a good deal colder than at home.

Committing every detail of the place to memory, Fleur spread her wings and was soon high above the buildings. What stretched below her was a village, or a small town in a valley, lined by snow-capped mountains. It did not in the least look familiar to her.

When she had left the village behind, she landed in an empty field and assumed her human form again.

_Harry?_ She sent out her thoughts.

_Yes?_

_Are you all right?_

_Yes. Nothing has happened. They are certainly not in a hurry…_

_I'm going to Apparate_ _now. Oh Harry, I love you!_

_You must be strong now. For Gabrielle. And for us. And – I love you, too!_

"Merlin, child! What's the matter?" Vivienne yelled in shock when Fleur appeared. "You look horrible!"

Panting, Fleur told her grandmother what had happened.

"And now Gabie is in that awful place, and Harry, too!" she finished desperately.

"We'll deal with it," Vivienne said grimly. "Now – first, we need to find where that place is…"

She took up the pensieve and extracted Fleur's memory; then she murmured a spell, and the image of a large map appeared on the wall.

"A village in the alpine foothills, near the Italian border, good hiding place… Now, just let me tell Dumbledore-,"

"But we must hurry!"

"It just takes a minute, and he needs to know, absolutely, in case…," she did not finish, but Fleur knew what she meant.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore was not in his office, so Vivienne left the pensieve on his desk with a short note and returned immediately.

"And now to business!"

Harry could not have said how much time had passed since Fleur's departure, when he heard sounds outside the door. He grabbed his wand tighter and pressed himself flat against the wall next to the door.

When the door was flung open, and a figure stepped over the threshold, Harry turned towards it in a flash and, without wasting any time to look at the newcomer, shouted,

"Expelliarmus!"

He put all the fury and fear that had accumulated inside him into the spell; it caught the stranger with tremendous force and flung him against the wall where he collapsed in a heap. A wand sailed into Harry's outstretched hand.

In another flash, Harry was bending over the stranger pressing his own wand forcefully at his throat.

"Get up!" he hissed.

The man groaned and reached a trembling hand up to Harry's wand. He was thin, with a shock of mousey hair, and not very much older than Harry himself.

"Get up!" Harry repeated, and poked the tip of his wand even harder at the other's throat. He felt a wave of satisfaction when he heard his opponent gasp in pain.

Slowly, the man got to his feet, Harry's wand never leaving his throat. When he was finally standing, he turned out to be a good deal smaller than Harry.

"Where's the little girl?" Harry demanded, and when the stranger did not react, he tried, "_la petite fille – ou est?_"

When the man ignored him, he added with a new rise of his anger,

"You bastard, you'll tell me! Engorgio!"

And he pointed his wand at the other's nose, which at once began to swell to the size of a large balloon, pulling the man's head forward with its weight.

"The little girl – where is she?" Harry repeated in a dangerous voice.

"Ok," the man's voice came in hoarse desperate whisper while he was trying to stop his monstrous nose from pulling him to the ground.

"Well, I hope you know what's good for you," Harry said grimly. "Reducio!"

While the nose was shrinking again, he kept his wand closely trained on his opponent. When the latter's face had returned to normal, he prodded him sharply with his wand.

"Let's go. And no funny tricks! Or it's some other part of your anatomy next time, I swear!"

Thankfully, Fleur had memorised the surroundings well, and so she and Vivienne Apparated exactly to the spot near the village where she had left.

"Well done," her grandmother said approvingly. "Now to transform…"

Fleur assumed her owl form again, while Vivienne chose to turn into a mountain eagle. Together they flew into the village and presently arrived in the cell where Fleur had left Harry an hour or so ago, where they returned to their human forms.

"He's gone!" Fleur gasped desperately.

_Harry, where are you?_ Her thoughts screamed silently.

"I can't find him!" she shouted. "Grandma, he can't be-,"

"There are several possible reasons," Vivienne said calmly. "No need to assume the worst. Confidence, dear! There's only one way to make sure. We'll find them – both of them. Relocare!"

They left the cell through the wide open door and following the pull of the wand, ignoring the cells along the corridor, started to creep silently up the staircase, their wands held in front of them.

The hall they emerged into was just as deserted as the basement had been. It was completely empty, obviously nothing had moved in it for a very long time. However, in the thick layer of dust on the floor some sets of footprints could clearly be seen.

"Look," Vivienne said, pointing it out to Fleur, "this track is going downstairs and coming back, and on the way back, there is this second track together with it…"

"Someone got Harry from the cell!"

"Most likely. So if we follow these footprints, we should find him. – Slowly, dear, don't rush! We are getting nearer, I'm sure of it. Look at your wand…"

Indeed, the glow of Fleur's wand was brighter than it had been downstairs and the clearly directed them up the broad staircase to the upper floor where the footprints pointed as well.

Careful not to make any noise they started to mount the stairs. On the landing, they turned into the corridor that opened to the right. Greyish daylight, very different from the bright sunshine back at the Delacour mansion, seeped in through a grimy window at the far end. An old stained carpet silenced their footsteps. Still there was no sign of any living thing.

_Harry, where are you?_ Again, Fleur sent her thoughts out.

"I can hear something, grandma! But – it's – as if he was miles off, or – injured, or…,"

"But he is alive, that's something. Let's go on. – Look, the footsteps disappear behind this door…Steady! We can't just barge in like this! What if- Fleur! Stop!"

But Fleur, full of anxiety, had already flung the door open and rushed into the room behind it.

A/N: Somehow I'm growing quite fond of these cliffhangers, so don't kill me for this one. Especially if you want to find out how this story continues. Special thanks to all my faithful reviewers, especially **BAGGE – **your thoughtful reviews help me to keep this going.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35 I smell a rat**

Harry's captive led him up the stairs and on to the first floor. The general state of neglect of the place reminded Harry of Grimauld Place – before Mrs. Weasley's ministrations, at least.

Presently, they were in front of a high double door. The man stopped and stepped to the side.

"Go on, open it," Harry said prodding him with his wand.

But the man just shook his head. His face was a deadly white. And there was terror in his eyes. Harry realised that he'd rather be cursed than open the door.

He did not need to think long.

"Petrificus totalis!" he said shortly, and as the man keeled over, stiff as a board, he turned to the door and pressed down the handle slowly and noiselessly.

The high-ceilinged room was in semi-darkness with thick curtains drawn in front of the windows and a chandelier with only a few candles the only source of light. A figure in dark robes was bent over something that looked like a bed but was in a shadowy corner so that Harry could not see anything clearly.

The figure turned round swiftly and even in the dim light Harry could recognise him.

"Wormtail!" he gasped jerking his wand up.

But he was too late – exactly the split second it had taken him to utter the name, and when he bellowed, "Expelliarmus!" Wormtail's shield charm was already up, and he had to jump aside so as not to be hit by his own rebounding spell.

"Harry?" It seemed Wormtail was just as surprised as Harry was. "How- where's the girl?"

"Ah," snarled Harry furiously, "thought you were very clever, you bastard, did you? I'll get you, if it's the last thing I do. Where's Gabrielle? What have you done to her?"

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?"

"I'm here, Harry!" the little girl's voice came from the corner. "I knew you would come and find me!"

Relief surged through Harry like a wave. "Gabie! Are you all right?"

"I'm tied up-,"

"Muffliato!" Wormtail said and Gabrielle's voice died down. "Shut up you annoying brat! I'll deal with you later. But now to Mr. Nosy Potter here… Oh no, you don't!"

Harry had hurled a petrificus curse at him, but he blocked it with a careless flick of his wand.

"You'll have to do a lot better than that," he said with a nasty smirk. "I'm not the Dark Lord's most trusted servant for nothing… Stupefy!"

Harry's Quidditch reflexes made it easy for him to dodge the curse.

"Flagrate!" he responded, causing Wormtail's robes to burst into flames at the hem.

The latter, however, had no problem extinguishing the fire in no time at all.

"Incarcerous!" The binding hex caught Harry fully, and ropes were tying themselves all around him so fast he had no chance to move. The only thing he could do was to raise his arms in front of his chest clinging desperately to his wand before he was tied up completely within a second or two.

"Ah, I thought this might do the trick," Wormtail said in a voice dripping with self-satisfaction. "Tying up's always been a speciality of old Peter."

He walked up to Harry until he was facing him just a foot or two away. A mad malicious fire was flickering in his eyes.

"I must confess I'm somewhat surprised, Harry," he went on. "I rather expected somebody else…"

"Fleur!" Harry spat furiously. "You sick bastard! You kidnapped Gabrielle, and you rigged that portkey – and you counted on her to be the one… But – WHY?"

"But isn't it obvious, Harry?" the repulsive voice wheedled. "Who wouldn't want to have a go at someone like her? I'm sure her – closer acquaintance will be most delightful, don't you think? There are many ways of enjoying her – company, I imagine…"

"You-," Harry's anger was almost choking him. "But your clever plan went wrong and you've got me instead," he finished somewhat lamely.

_He thinks it's only me who arrived,_ he thought. _I should try and keep him talking as long as I can. Perhaps she'll bring help in time._

"Well, Harry, as you very correctly observe, I've got you. And I expect the Dark Lord will appreciate the gift I'm going to surprise him with. After all, why should he wait and carry out that complicated plan of his, with Hogwarts spies and hidden portkeys and things if I can present him Harry Potter just like this?"

"Plan?" _Keep him talking, he's so full of himself, he might make a mistake…_

"The plan, oh yes, the plan. He wouldn't even confide it to me, his most loyal and trusted servant, completely. 'The time is not ripe, Wormtail,' he will tell me, and 'you will be told what you need to know in time.' Well, sometimes the simple ways are better than the most complicated plans, Harry, don't you agree?"

"He'll skin you alive, when he finds out that you've been acting without orders," Harry told him grimly, and was deeply satisfied to see the flicker of fear in the other's eyes.

"No, he can't," Wormtail said but his voice wavered. "No, how could he?" he continued, obviously to reassure himself. "He always says the end justifies the means – and that end, well, we both know what _that_ is, Harry, don't we?"

"Suit yourself," Harry said darkly. "He doesn't seem to appreciate independent action or thinking in his slaves, is what _I _think."

"Nonsense!" But Wormtail did not sound so sure of himself any more. "After all I am-,"

"The Dark Lord's most loyal and trusted servant," Harry finished sarcastically. "Let's hope he shares this opinion – for your sake," he added.

Wormtail shifted uncomfortably.

"Nobody has done him more services than I have," he muttered petulantly. "Without me he wouldn't have got his body back, would he? And first of all, it was me who-,"

"Who betrayed my parents? That's what you mean? Yes? And then framed Sirius for it? What had they ever done?"

"Ah, good that you ask," now the voice was full of hatred. "Always looked down on poor Peter, always made me feel inferior. They despised me. Allowed me to tag along with them, so everybody would see how good and generous they were… That girl, how she laughed at me when I tried to kiss her-,"

"Who – no!"

"Yes, your precious mother! Never looked at me, only had eyes for Potter, great glorious James Potter, Quidditch hero and wonder boy. Oh, he got everything, everything he wanted, and more. Fame, money, and the girl I wanted! And I? No more than a pet – like the pet I was for that moronic redhead later on. No, if I couldn't have her, -"

His anger boiling inside him, Harry looked at him, unable to speak.

"Yes, they got what they deserved," Wormtail continued. "And now my revenge will soon be complete. And then I will finally have everything I've ever dreamed of – and the two Veela mudbloods will be first-,"

He stopped, as the door was opened and the man Harry had left stunned outside entered.

"Ah, Derek," Wormtail said turning towards him. "I was wondering where you were. You did not, by any chance, get tricked by our by our superhero here?"

He raised his wand menacingly. The man blanched.

"I – er – master-,"

"Crucio!" Wormtail shrieked, and Derek collapsed in a screaming heap in front of him. Harry shivered when he saw Wormtail's obvious delight in the man's pain.

"You are the most useless piece of crap that I've ever come across," Wormtail said pleasantly to the writhing death eater. He lifted the curse and kicked the now motionless bundle at his feet.

"Get up and stand aside. We have to send word to the Dark Lord about the surprise that is awaiting him here."

_Harry, Harry, Where are you?_

Harry tensed involuntarily when he heard Fleur's voice in his mind. With an effort, he hid his surprise. Luckily, Wormtail had been busy with his assistant and had not noticed anything.

_Fleur, are you all right? Have you come back? Could you bring help?_

But it seemed that she could not hear him, because her thoughts kept repeating her first message. And nothing that Harry could do made any difference. But he had the feeling that the voice inside his head was getting louder, as if Fleur was coming nearer.

He decided to try and distract Wormtail some more. If Fleur really appeared, it would be good if he was not watching the door.

"You worthless, dirty coward!" he shouted. "They trusted you! My Dad would have hexed you to the next century if you'd had the guts to stand up to him, you sick bastard! Cheating and lying and kidnapping helpless little girls, that's what you can do! But I'll get you yet!"

"Will you?" Wormtail sounded amused. "But thanks for reminding me. Perhaps I should have a bit of fun with the little mudblood. Accio!"

The bedstead to which Gabrielle was still chained rushed over to the centre of the room. Harry's heart jumped at the sight of her frail little body in the pink pyjamas. He felt his fury boil inside him like he had never felt it before.

"Leave her alone!" he shrieked, panic now clearly noticeable in his voice. "Leave her alone – or-,"

"Hmm, this is even going to be more fun than I thought," Wormtail sneered. "Now, let me see… how about a little Crucio? Only very slight, to begin with, of course…"

"No!" Harry screamed again. "Do it to me, if you must!"

"Ah, the knight in shining armour! You'll have your wish, Harry, not to worry. But first-,"

He turned towards Gabrielle, whose face was very white.

All Harry's anger, fear and frustration seemed to seethe to white-hot fire inside him.

"NO!!!"

There was a clinking of metal, as the cuffs around Gabrielle's wrists and ankles sprang open and flew at Wormtail's head, who, completely taken by surprise, could just raise his hands to protect his face before they hit him forcefully.

With reflexes worthy of a Quidditch seeker, Gabrielle rolled off the bedstead and rushed over towards Harry. Before Derek, who had taken some time to recover, could get at her, she was there and Harry felt her small hands at the ropes that were binding him.

Just as he was straining all his muscles to shake off the bonds, the door burst open with a crash.

"Fleur!" Harry shouted when he realised who it was. Once again, he was struck with the realisation how breathtakingly beautiful she was.

"Gabrielle! Harry!"

But she had been distracted for a second, and Wormtail lost no time.

"Petrifi-"

Quick like a tiny animal, Gabrielle hurled herself at his knees, knocking him clear off his feet.

In a flash, Fleur was at Harry's side, who, at exactly that moment had managed to free his wand-arm. The cords disappeared and they both turned towards Wormtail.

He had, of course, not had any trouble petrifying Gabrielle and was now standing again facing them. His wand was aimed at the rigid form of the little girl on the floor. Fleur and Harry froze.

"Welcome in my humble house, my beautiful lady," he said with a leer. "And now, you will do exactly what I am telling you, or there might be something unpleasant happening to this sweet little girl here. Now, if you-,"

There was an inhuman furious shriek, and a huge bird came soaring into the room through the open door and swooped down at Wormtail, who had just time to raise a shielding charm, or the talons would have ripped his face open.

All this had been so fast that the young death eater had not had a chance to react. When he saw the enormous bird, his nerves cracked, and he ran from the room, not looking back.

Wormtail had quickly recovered from his shock and began to hurl curse after curse, but the bird was too swift, and he kept missing.

"I know," Fleur whispered suddenly. She raised her wand and hissed, "_Form obscuram revelare!"_

A white flash enveloped Wormtail, and when it cleared, the large shabby looking rat was sitting on the floor. And before the rat could turn to run for cover, there was another deafening shriek, and the huge bird swooped down again.

A squeak – a flutter of feathers, and – silence.

No sooner had Vivienne returned to her human form than both Gabrielle and Fleur rushed towards her to hug her tightly. Gabrielle was crying now, and Fleur's shoulders were shaking too, as she was burying her face in her grandmother's shoulder.

Harry was staring at the group, but before he could begin to feel excluded, Gabrielle broke loose, ran over to him and grabbed his hand.

"Come, Harry!" she panted and dragged him over to Fleur and Vivienne, where he found himself almost smothered in a warm embrace and cascades of fragrant silver-blond hair.

"Harry, you were brilliant!" Gabrielle said eagerly when they had released each other. "You know what he did, Grandma? Wandless magic!!"

And she told her what had happened.

"He just shouted No, and those shackles flew off, just like that. He didn't move a finger!" she finished.

Harry felt himself blush.

"I – I don't know how I did it. I'm not even sure if I did it at all…,"

"Nonsense," Gabrielle said shortly. "How else did it happen? I was you, no doubt about that!"

"Wandless magic? That's very rare," Vivienne said, looking at Harry with interest. "We'll have to look into that talent more closely. But we'll do that later, and in a more comfortable place."

She looked at the dark patch of hair and blood on the floor and shook herself in disgust.

"And here I was thinking toad was bad enough," she said. But compared to rat…,"

"Well, I guess that's the last we'll ever see of old Wormtail," Harry said with deep satisfaction. You know there was a moment when I felt almost sorry for him-,"

"Sorry?" Fleur gasped in surprise.

"Yes, he told me how he was – was in love with my mum… That's why he hated my dad so much. It must be terrible to be in love and not be loved back."

"And so he betrayed them and they were both killed? What a perverse sort of love!" Fleur spat. "_I want you, and I'll have you_; and if I can't have you, I'd rather destroy you than let someone else have you? That's not love!"

"Of course it isn't," Harry said rather sheepishly. "But somehow… Anyway, when he was going to torture Gabie, I felt something snap inside me, and – I don't know why and how, suddenly those cuffs were flying all over the place…"

"In situations of intense emotional stress wandless magic has been reported to happen," Vivienne said slowly. "I believe it's something like that in your case. "Has it ever happened before?"

"Yes, not you mention it." And Harry told them about the glass of the python's cage, and of the blowing up of Aunt Marge.

"Obviously this is another of your special talents, Harry," Vivienne said appreciatively. "We'll have to work on it, maybe it can be developed."

"But I'm supposed to go back to Hogwarts in a couple of days."  
"Er – well, no matter, I'm sure you'll find some teacher there to work on it with you…"

Harry had no idea why Fleur was grinning.

"Why don't we go back home?" Vivienne said at last. "Before our young friend can get reinforcements?"

"Yes, let's," Harry agreed. "We have been extraordinarily lucky, as it is."

"So you just ran, coward, when he would have needed you most?"

"Erm – I – "

"And when you came back?"

"There – the room was empty, my lord… they were all gone! I – I don't know… I just found this…"

Trembling with fear, the young death eater handed something over – a silver rat's paw. Voldemort examined it carefully.

"I see," he said, and Derek was surprised to hear a note of satisfaction in his master's voice.

"You may go," he added after a moment, waving his hand dismissively. "For now, your cowardice shall go unpunished."

Hardly believing his luck, Derek bowed deeply and scuttled off as fast as he possibly could without showing his fear too openly. When he was gone, Voldemort looked at the silver paw again, and a smile was playing on his face.

"Well, my good old Wormtail," he said softly. "How easily you could be manipulated… Just as I expected, you rose to the bait… I've always told you not to let yourself be guided by your cravings and emotions… Self-indulgence can be a very dangerous thing… It easily blurs your judgement… Did you really expect you could pull it off? Appeasing your desires behind Lord Voldemort's back? Fool! I put those ideas in that dense head of yours in the first place, didn't I? You were becoming a burden, too full of yourself, really… How could you imagine Lord Voldemort would put up with your conceit? Just because you were instrumental in getting my body back you believed you could get away with those stupid little whims of yours? _The Dark Lord's most trusted servant_ indeed. Lord Voldemort never trusts anybody… There is only power … and gratitude is not a word in Lord Voldemort's vocabulary…"

A/N: I do hope this makes some sense. Actually, I'm not completely satisfied with this; the battle scene is not what I wanted it to be. It seems too easy for them. So if you have some suggestions, they are welcome. And, yes, Voldemort will just be Voldemort.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36 New complications**

When they Apparated back to Vivienne's room at the Delacours mansion, they directly bumped into Dumbledore himself, and all five of them fell over in a heap, from which it took them a minute or two to extricate themselves.

"I feel quite literally overwhelmed with relief," Dumbledore said, getting to his feet and straightening his robes. "I was just beginning to think I'd better go after you, even if the Order members that I alerted had not arrived. But it seems everybody is perfectly fine. Would somebody care to enlighten me as to your exploits? It all started with you, didn't it?" He looked at Gabrielle inquisitively. "So it is probably a good idea that you begin the tale."

"Perhaps we should all sit down," Vivienne put in. "And have the house elves get some refreshments for us. I, for my part, do feel a bit tired, I'm not as young as I used to be, I'm afraid…"

"Ah, my dear Vivienne," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling, "fishing for compliments, are we? Let me assure you – you don't look a day older than when we last worked together; and that was – _several_ years ago. I, on the other hand…"

"Now, who is fishing for compliments, Albus?" But she could not stop herself blushing, something that caused Fleur to smirk. Harry, though, did not understand a word.

"Worked together?"

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore told him. "Madame Delisle here was very helpful when it came to clearing up the mess that Grindelwald had left behind. No, my dear, there is no reason to protest, you did do a very good job back then…"

"But," Harry started, confused, "Grindelwald? That's – er – fifty years ago! How can you…"

"Veela age very differently from humans, Harry," Dumbledore explained. "And from wizards, too… Ah, here they come!"

Four house elves had appeared bearing trays laden with food and drink. Only now Harry realised that he was indeed hungry. He had no clear idea how much time had passed during their dealings with Wormtail, but it seemed to be early afternoon, at least.

When they were seated comfortably and had helped themselves to the delicious dishes, Dumbledore turned to Gabrielle again.

"Now, _mademoiselle,_ if you would be so kind…"

Gabrielle, proud of the attention, began.

"Well, I don't think I can tell you a lot. When I left the ball – and a wonderful ball it was, and you are a fantastic dancer, Harry – I went to my room. I took off my dress and put it on the hanger and got into my pyjamas…"

"But did you notice anything unusual?" Fleur interrupted.

Gabrielle gave her a superior look.

"Of course not. You don't think I'd have done all that if I had? _You_ wouldn't undress if you thought someone was hiding behind the curtains, would you?"

Harry couldn't help grinning at the cheeky reply.

"And then, just as I was drawing back the hangings of my bed, some spell must have hit me. I don't remember what happened – I must have fallen or something, but the first thing I remember again is that I awoke in that unfamiliar room, chained to the bed, or whatever it was. And that man was looking at me…"

"Chained!" Fleur felt her anger rise again at the thought.

"And I recognised him at once," Gabrielle continued. "He used to visit mother last spring."

"He did?" Dumbledore leaned forward interestedly. "What did he want?"

"Unfortunately, we have no idea," Fleur said, and told him how she had watched the two of them. I could never hear what they were talking about."

"Well, one of the first things will be to ask your mother about it," Dumbledore said, but before that, pray finish your tale."

"There is something definitely strange about it all," Dumbledore said pensively, after they had all finished their reports. "It seems the entire affair was planned in an extremely – amateurish way. I won't believe for a second any plan of Voldemort's would be carried out like that. There was only Pettigrew, you say, and that one youngster, you say?"

"As far as we noticed yes," Vivienne replied. "But we didn't actually search the place…"

"I suppose not. And _he_ appears not to have been too competent, too… No, I very much doubt this was planned by the Dark Lord."

"I certainly got the impression Wormtail was acting without orders," Harry put in. "As far as I understood him he – he wanted Fleur… He was quite surprised to see me instead…"

"Another hint. Voldemort certainly would not bother with anything less than you. But still… I can't imagine a character like Pettigrew to act clearly against his master's wishes. I am quite sure he imagined he was at least acting with Voldemort's unspoken permission."

"You are most likely right here, Albus. Still, it doesn't make sense. Well, I suppose we'll never know exactly. Wait – could it be that Voldemort put him up to it with the _intention that he should fail_?"

"But – why should he? He was his most loyal servant, wasn't he? He kept saying it over and over! Without Wormtail, Voldemort wouldn't have got his body back, even! He owes him, and heavily!" Harry could not understand the idea at all.

But Dumbledore nodded.

"That may just exactly be the reason, Harry. Nobody likes owing, and Voldemort, if I know him, least of all. It would involve gratitude, and I imagine this is one of the things in life he hates most. _If pity is akin to love, gratitude is akin to the other thing,_ as a clever muggle poet once wrote. Yes, Vivienne, I can imagine you are right: Voldemort hates his obligation to Wormtail, who, with a personality like that, will grasp every occasion to remind him of it, too. So, he plants this idea into his mind…"

"And he reasons like this," Vivienne continued, "Pettigrew, not being exactly the most accomplished wizard, will most likely make a mess of it and be captured or killed. Thus he will be rid of this, by now, useless and irksome reminder of his debt. If, unexpectedly, he succeeds, he will have a useful hostage… Yes, it's certainly a possibility. That's the way a dark wizard's mind works."

When they had finished their lunch, Dumbledore rose.

"Now we'd better go and find Madame Delacour. It will be interesting to hear what her dealings with the late Mr. Wormtail were."

They searched all the rooms of the mansion, but there was no sign of Isabeau Delacour. At last they went out to the park. When they found her in the garden pavilion, they were in for a shock. There were deep dark shadows below her eyes, her face was pale and her beautiful hair was in complete disarray. She was sitting on the bench wrapped in robes of greyish brown, staring out across the lake, seemingly into nothingness.

"Mama!" Fleur called out, horrified.

Isabeau turned towards them slowly, as if she found it difficult to remember where she was.

"What's wrong?" Fleur exclaimed, hurrying over to her.

"Fleur? Gabrielle?" Her voice was hoarse and weak, as if she found it hard to speak. After a pause, in which she lifted one of her hands in her daughters' direction, she went on, "I have been the most horrible mother – can you ever forgive me?"

Fleur was speechless. Whatever she had expected – it was nothing like this. She sank down to her knees in front of her mother, taking her hands, while Gabrielle hesitantly moved to her other side.

"Mama-," Fleur broke off and gazed up into Isabeau's face completely at a loss for words.

A tremor went through Isabeau's body, her eyes closed and she sagged back on the bench.

A scream of terror came from Fleur's lips as she jumped up.

"Mama!" she sobbed, grabbing the limp figure by the shoulders, shaking her. "Is she-"

In three quick strides Dumbledore was by her side.

"No, not that," he said calmly. "You can see she is breathing; and here - a flutter of the eyelids… One moment-"

With a quick wave of his wand, he conjured up a stretcher, and another wave caused the quiet figure to be laid down on it.

Now Vivienne examined her daughter more closely, muttering incantations and performing intricate gestures with her wand.

"She doesn't seem hurt in any way," she said at last. "Breathing and pulse are perhaps a bit shallow and weak, but I can't see anything overtly wrong with her. There's only one thing we can do, I believe – take her to Saint-Esculape right away, she needs to be thoroughly examined by the experts. And the two of you better come along, too," she added, addressing her granddaughters.

The two girls, still unable to speak, just nodded silently.

"I'm coming, too!" Harry took Fleur's hand and squeezed it. "No way I'll leave you in this on your own!"

"I suppose I had better come too," Dumbledore said quietly. "In the clinic, there are ways to find out what happened, perhaps, and it may be important to do so soon. So, if you give me a minute to leave a message to Kingsley Shacklebolt, - I don't understand what keeps him so long, anyway, - we can all Apparate…"

Saint-Esculape did not look much different from a muggle hospital Harry thought when they materialised in a large hall. Even the young witches behind the reception desk were wearing white robes, just as could be expected. Their appearance did not even cause much interest; people were Apparating and Disapparating constantly, so nobody paid much attention. Vivienne swiftly walked up to the reception desk and said a few words to the girl there and a minute or two later a tall man in white robes, with a beard to rival Dumbledore's was bending over the stretcher on which Isabeau's motionless form was lying.

"_Bon jour,_ Galén," Vivienne said. "It's good of you to come so soon. "Galén Rougecroix is the principal healer of the clinic," she told the others. "If anybody can help us with this, it's him." And to the healer, she continued, "We have reason to believe my daughter is under the influence of some dark magic-,"

"You will help her, yes?" Gabrielle spoke up anxiously. "You will, will you?"

"I will certainly do my best,_ ma petite_," the healer said in a friendly voice. "I gather that you two girls are the patient's daughters, but-,"

"Albus Dumbledore, head-," Vivienne began, but the healer interrupted,

"Of course I know who you are monsieur," he bowed deeply. "I have always wanted to meet you. Alas, it's under less pleasant circumstances than I would have wished for. Now I am beginning to understand that this is indeed an important and extraordinary case." He cast an inquisitive look at Harry. "Then I believe I am not wrong in believing that this young man is none other than – Harry Potter."

Surprised, and not a little embarrassed, Harry nodded somewhat dumbly.

"And then," Galén continued, "my further guess is that all this has something to do with _Vous-savez-quis_, correct?"

Dumbledore inclined his head briefly.

"Well," the healer said, "then we should not waste any more time on pleasantries…" He clapped his hands and two young wizards in light-green robes came over to them. "Ward thirty-five," he told them curtly, and as the two young men took up the stretcher, he signalled to the others to follow him.

Ward thirty-five was a small but brightly lit room in friendly colour. The curtains were open, and sunlight was streaming in through the high window. The limp form of Isabeau Delacour was deposited on the single bed, and the healer began his examinations right away, muttering various spells and moving his hands about in intricate patterns.

"I am sorry to say," he said after some time, "that for the moment I cannot say what is wrong with the patient. However, the good thing is that there does not seem anything physically wrong, and certainly nothing at all that might pose an acute danger to her life. Even if heart rate and breathing are somewhat slower than normal, in a state of unconsciousness this is nothing extraordinary. I can exclude all purely organic reasons for her state, but I have not been able to determine what spell she was subjected to. It is obviously nothing of the ordinary, like Petrificus or something similar. However, if this really has something to do with _Vous-savez quis_, this is only what must be expected. I am afraid,_ mademoiselle,_" he concluded, turning to Fleur, "that it will take a day or two before we can tell you more. So I must ask you to be patient."

"Can I – can I stay with her?" Fleur asked anxiously.

"I'm afraid that will not be a good idea," the healer said. We, my colleagues and I, will perform a number of intricate spells and tests, and anybody else would just cause unhelpful disturbance. So I'm sorry, but I must ask you to leave the patient for now. I assure you I will personally floo you immediately if her state changes in any way, or when we find out something about the reasons for it."

"He is right, you know," Vivienne agreed. "Any disturbance in a case like this can do a lot more harm than good. So there is no way you can be of any help at the moment."

"But-" Gabrielle began, her voice shaking.

"And you are quite sure…?"

When the healer saw how dejected Gabrielle and Fleur were at his words, he clicked his fingers and a silver tray appeared in mid air.

"Have some chocolate," he said kindly. "Best Belgian chocolate. It will help to cheer you up – personally, I always find it soothes me in times of stress."

As Harry, whose experience with Hogwarts chocolate was rather extensive, knew very well about its effects, he was first to take a chunk from the tray.

"It's fantastic," he told the girls. "It's loads better than anything I've ever tasted before. Try it – I'm sure it will do you good too."

Gabrielle eagerly helped herself, too, but Fleur hesitated.

_It – it seems so wrong…_ Her thoughts came to him, but he replied,

_It doesn't help her at all if you feel rotten…_

At which Fleur also took a piece and indeed felt considerably better.

When they had finished their chocolate, Vivienne pulled the girls towards her gently.

"All we can do right now is going home. _Alors, mes enfants…"_

The healer turned to Dumbledore.

"I would appreciate your assistance in our examinations, monsieur," he said. "If this is indeed the doing of the Dark Lord, as I believe it is, your experience will be invaluable."

"I will only be too glad to do my humble best," Dumbledore agreed, bowing politely. "Now, if you please, Vivienne, I believe it is time for you to leave…"

And, although reluctantly, they Apparated back to the mansion.

When they materialised in the hall, they found Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tonks and two strangers standing around, looking rather lost.

"Ah, here you are at last, Harry!" The tall black Auror said in his deep voice. "We were just wondering whether we should go back again, seeing as there was nobody there in the whole bloody house – begging your pardon, Ma'am," he finished with a glance towards Vivienne.

"So, Harry, what have you been up to?" Tonks inquired. "Dumbledore sounded pretty worried when he summoned us, but it seems you're fine enough, so what's all the hubbub about?"

"Well, Fleur and Gabrielle and myself – we were almost killed, but apart from that, nothing important…"

And he continued to tell them about the events of the last couple of hours. When he had finished, Kingsley said,

"Could be a good idea if we went and checked that place. We just might find some interesting things, I could imagine. What do you say?" He turned to the others, who nodded their agreement.

"I'll go with you!" Harry offered at once, but the Auror shook his head.

"No way, Harry. You've been through enough for today, really. We'll find our way, don't you worry, if you'll just be kind enough to fill us in, Ma'am."

"He's right, Harry," Tonks assisted. "There's nothing you can do to help us, you see…"

"I'm NOT so useless as you are saying!" Harry said hotly. However, Fleur put her hand on his arm.

"Gabie and me would really like you to stay with us now, Harry, please!"

"Yes, Harry, you can't leave us, you just can't!"

"All right," he agreed, smiling at the two girls affectionately. "How could I ever not…"

So, after Vivienne had instructed them about the whereabouts of the building, the group of Aurors set off.

"Now what?" Fleur said, and her voice sounded exhausted.

"There is not much we can do at the moment," her grandmother said. "Right now we'll just have to wait for news from the clinic…


	37. Chapter 37

A/N: Here you'll find out a few bits about Fleur's mother at last. Tell me what you think.

Chapter 37 Awakening

"A very strange case, _n'est ce pas_?" Galén Rougecroix said to Dumbledore when Vivienne and the others had gone.

Dumbledore silently nodded. He bent over the motionless figure on the bed, put his hand on her forehead and concentrated.

"It might be a good idea to get a therapeutical pensieve," he said after a time. "It may help if we analysed her memory."

"We would need her consent for that," the healer replied. "It's unethical to invade someone's memory without it."

"I am quite aware of the fact," Dumbledore retorted, a note of impatience in his voice. "However, I believe it will be somewhat difficult to obtain that consent. And as we both believe that it has something to do with Voldemort, we should not waste time on a mere formality. After all, nobody ever needs to know about this, except you and me."

The healer hesitated.

"Very well," he said at last. "It is probably just like you say. I still feel uncomfortable about it, but it is most likely the best approach to the case…"

With a small gesture, he summoned a miniature silver basin that he handed to Dumbledore.

"_Voila, monsieur,_ I would indeed feel better if you applied it…"

Harry and the girls had been quite nervous and restless all evening and refused to go to bed; so Vivienne put her foot down.

"You are not helping anybody by staying up all night," she said. "All you will reach by that is complete exhaustion by tomorrow morning, when, perhaps, you _will_ get a chance to be useful."

She conjured up a large sofa in the middle of the salon.

"Lie down!" she ordered in a voice that clearly brooked no protest. "_Somnium!_"

With a satisfied smile she watched the three youngsters cuddle up together on the sofa, already fast asleep.

With a click of her fingers she summoned a house-elf.

"Watch over them, Maisy," she said. "I am going to the clinic. If anything out of the ordinary happens, let me know at once."

"_Bien sure, madame,"_ the elf said bowing low and Vivienne Disapparated.

At the clinic she found Dumbledore busy setting the pensieve up to work. He stopped when he saw her.

"Ah, Vivienne, good you have come back. I suppose it will be alright if she gives her permission to use this?" he continued turning to Galén.

"Correct. The nearest blood relatives certainly have authority to do that."

"But I don't expect you will need this thing, anyway," Vivienne said, looking at it disdainfully. "Let me try it my way."

"Your way?"

"Yes, Albus, there are some things about Veela that I believe even you are not aware of. The mental bond between a mother and her daughter is one of them. I am confident that I will have no problem entering her mind, now that she is unconscious. Of course, in her waking state I could only do so with her permission, and I would never try without it, anyway. But as this is clearly an emergency… Kindly get me a comfortable chair, Galén, it may take some time, and I don't want cramps and stiff joints when I come back."

When the chair was duly supplied, she sat down, put a hand on her daughter's forehead, closed her eyes and concentrated.

"Well, I believe we are quite superfluous here," Dumbledore said with a shrug. "Why don't we go wherever you go when you are off duty for a cup of your excellent French coffee?"

The healer could only agree, and the two men quietly left the room.

It did not take Vivienne long to find the image of Wormtail in her daughter's memory. She watched as the short balding man walked swiftly up to Isabeau, who was sitting by herself in the garden pavilion.

"You will arrange for your daughter Fleur to go to Hogwarts in autumn," Vivienne heard Wormtail say seemingly without any preliminaries.

"Fleur will go to Hogwarts," Isabeau repeated in a dull voice.

"And so that she does not suspect anything, you will treat her with the utmost care and accept and fulfil her every wish."

"With the utmost care and accept and fulfil her every wish."

"And you will not remember that we have ever met."

There was a rush of shapes and colour, and suddenly Wormtail was there again. Again, the scene was in the garden pavilion, but the time was clearly spring now. Again, Isabeau was sitting on the bench. Just when the image had become clear, Vivienne saw the man point his wand at her.

"_Imperio perennis!_"

At once, Isabeau's posture stiffened, and her face assumed the blank expression so typical of the Imperius curse.

"Where is the amulet?" Wormtail was saying.

Isabeau looked at him blankly. "Amulet?" she repeated in a toneless voice.

"The amulet your daughter found in the forest. Where is it?"

"I do not know about any amulet. There is no amulet in my daughter's room."

An angry shadow flashed across the man's face.

"Then it will still be in England," he said to himself. "You may go."

Again the image blurred, but Vivienne had seen enough.

"_Imperio perennis_?" she said to herself when she had returned from her journey into her daughter's memory. "Dumbledore will know more about that…"

"_Perennis,_ you say?" Dumbldore said thoughtfully when she had told him and the healer what she had found out. "The constant Imperius curse… a very difficult curse indeed. I am surprised someone like Pettigrew should be able to perform it. Most likely, Voldemort taught him how to do it, probably lent him some of his power for the purpose."

"What's the difference to the normal curse?"

"This special form of the Imperius curse," Dumbledore continued, "just like the one you know about, changes the cursed person into a kind of automaton obeying the wishes of the caster. However, the _perennis_ variant keeps up this influence over a much longer period of time, and also does not require the constant presence of the caster. According to the power of the magic involved, the effects can last up to four months without having to be renewed. The normal Imperius curse needs to be re-applied once a week or so, and also the people involved cannot be far apart for longer than perhaps a day or two. As for the mental and physical effects, I expect you are the expert here, _monsieur."_

"This is correct. Luckily, this special variant of the curse does not occur often, so knowledge about it is sparse, but we do know a few things. The spell creates a very strong connection between the people concerned. And therefore, some reports say that, when the caster of the curse is hurt, the victim experiences similar sensations. Now I cannot recall any case where the caster actually died, but it only seems logical that, like here, a very strong reaction of the victim would happen. This certainly would explain the state of unconsciousness."

"Great. But what can you do to get her out of it again?"

"Patience, _madame_. Now that we know what happened to her it should not be too difficult. In fact, I believe she will perfectly fine by tomorrow morning."

Strands of hair tickling his face woke Harry. He blinked. When, in an automatic gesture that he had used every morning during the past years, he wanted to reach for his glasses, he found it difficult to move his arms.

"Harry?" came a sleepy voice from his right, and it took him a second or two to recognise it as Gabrielle's. Her head was buried in his shoulder, and her right arm was thrown across his chest, while Fleur's warm body was snuggled up to him on the other side. Another moment later, Fleur stirred. Now he remembered the events of the last evening, and only now he realised that he must have fallen asleep with his glasses on.

"Mother!" Fleur's voice sounded shocked as she, too, remembered. "We must-"

"Your mother is well again, _cherie_," Vivienne, who must have Apparated that very moment, said. "And she wants to see you right away."

Both girls jumped up excitedly at the news.

"How? When?"

"Patience," Vivienne told them. "She will tell you everything you want to know herself. Now, just brush your hair out of your eyes – you look quite dishevelled. And then let's go. Yes, Harry," she added seeing his doubtful look, "of course you'll come too. In fact, she expressly asked for you."

After only a minute or two they Apparated to the clinic, where they found Isabeau sitting upright in her bed. She was still deadly pale, but there was a determined expression in her eyes. She smiled weakly at her daughters and opened her arms.

"Mama!" Gabrielle and Fleur rushed over and threw themselves at her, bowling her over on the bed. The next minutes were taken up by indistinct mutterings, mixed with sobs.

At last, the three sat up again, and Isabeau stretched out her hand towards Harry, who had been standing aside, watching the scene with a subtle feeling of envy.

"Harry," she said, and gestured for him to come over. "I am so grateful…"

"But – I – I didn't…"

"No," she whispered touching his cheek with a cold hand, "without you-," her voice trailed off. After a pause she said in a much firmer tone,

"Painful as it is, I will now tell you everything… Sit down, Harry. This is more about you than you can know…"

After Vivienne had conjured chairs for herself and Harry – the girls remained sitting on the bed to each side of their mother – Isabeau began:

"I don't expect any of you have ever been under the Imperius curse-"

"I have," Harry muttered under his breath, but nobody seemed to hear him.

"-so you will not find it easy to imagine… Well – it must have been some time in spring when that – that _man_ first appeared at the mansion."

Here Fleur and Gabrielle exchanged glances. Isabeau continued.

"I cannot remember exactly under what pretext he got admitted, but I does not matter, does it? He put me under the Imperius curse, and wanted me to find some amulet or other for him; he was under the impression you had it in your room, Gabrielle-"

"Morgaine's necklace!" Fleur gasped.

"What?"

"It's a complicated story, mama; please finish yours first."

"All right. He was very angry when I could not find anything, but he seemed to accept it and I did not see him for several months. However, two days before Fleur's return home from school he appeared again. And this time – he – he made me - be _nice_ to you… He – he said I had to arrange for you to go to Hogwarts… to say you would be safe there…"

"He did? But – but then the Dementor attack was just a – a trick?"

"It certainly seems so, mother."

"But – why would – _Voldemort_ want me in Hogwarts, for Merlin's sake?"

"I have no idea," Vivienne said. "But you should certainly be on your guard. Please go on."

"You cannot imagine," Isabeau continued and her voice was shaking, "What it feels like. Doing things and all the while knowing they are wrong, but being unable to stop… But then, while I was following the orders of the curse, deep inside of me I became aware how happy it all made you… And it made me start thinking… You have a lot of time to think inside yourself while under Imperius – in fact I believe it's what kept me sane… One will appreciate the things one has lost a lot better, you know… And I – I realised what a horrible mother I had been to my children all these years… And I vowed if I ever got out of that curse I would make amends as best as I can… Can you forgive me? I cannot promise I will be perfect, but…"

With tears in her eyes, Fleur threw her arms around her mother.

"Yes!" she sobbed.

Harry also felt something sting in his eyes.

"Never believed there might be something _he _did one could be grateful for," he said to himself.

"Ends and means," Vivienne mused. "Normally, evil means are claimed to be justified by desirable ends – but of course they corrupt the ends as well as the person using them… Perhaps this is what happens when _good_ means are applied for evil ends… The dynamics of good and evil are unfathomable…"

"And of course someone like Wormtail could never understand about good altogether," Harry remarked.

"But - did he ever mention anything about Voldemort's plans?" He went on after a pause. "I mean, he did mention something when he was talking to me, about spys and hidden portkeys, but that's not really a lot to go by. He did not say who the spy was, for example?"

Isabeau shook her head.

"He used to keep boasting about it all, and how ingenuous the plan was, but that is it. I do not think he knew very much about the plan himself. He did know about the spy, though; he seemed very proud of it, as if he had some hand in it all himself – sometimes he said things like _they'll never find out who it is,_ or_ nobody'll ever suspect that –_ but he never mentioned any names. I have a feeling he said all that just to make me feel bad."

"Indeed, he had a taste for that sort of thing," Harry said grimly.

Gabrielle shuddered at the memory.

"And then, when was it? Yesterday? I could not say… Suddenly a feeling of emptiness overcame me – no, not emptiness – disorientation, perhaps, depression – there is no word for it, I'm afraid…like – like looking out to the sky from a deep dark hole, and frightened never to get out… and then, I don't know – when I came to I was here in this bed…"

"Well," Vivienne said briskly, "why don't we all go home now? After all, have you forgotten what day it is?"

"What-?" Harry looked at her blankly before realisation dawned on him. "Of course! Christmas Eve!"

"But shouldn't we tell Dumbledore about it all?" Fleur, who hade finally found her voice, asked.

"This can wait, _cherie_. I do not expect Voldemort will be up to something. That plan of his is about Hogwarts, remember? So I believe we'll all be quite safe here."

"So, why don't we invite Dumbledore over for Christmas, grandma?"

"Why not indeed? As it is, the house will be full of Aurors anyway. I'll just go and tell him about all this, and then we can go back home. I won't be a minute…"

When they returned to the Delacours mansion, they found Kingsley Shacklebolt and the other Aurors waiting for them, just as Vivienne had predicted.

"We made a thorough search of the place," the black Auror reported. "But it was completely deserted. It does not look as if it had been lived in for years. We found a fully equipped torture chamber on the first floor-," he shook himself. "Disgusting. But there was no living soul anywhere in that place. Whoever was there must have left in a hurry." He paused. "Good to see everybody is fine, that's what matters, I'd say. Well, we'd better be off," he turned to address the other Aurors. "Perhaps we can still get something out of Christmas if we hurry."

After the Aurors had Disapparated, Vivienne took charge of everything.

"You'll go and lie down and rest," she said to her daughter. "No – don't argue, you are still tired out even if you don't know it yourself. – Yes, Fleur can keep you company, I can imagine you will have a lot to talk about, even if I believe you'd better sleep it all off first. And you, Harry, and Gabrielle, you can help me with the Christmas decorations. There is rather a lot to do…"

A/N: Thanks to all the reviewers. You can look forward to some more fluff in the next chapter. If there is anybody out there familiar with French Christmas customs, I'd appreciate your help!


	38. Chapter 38

A/N: Special thanks to all who reviewed, an especially to quentin grey and/or Regine Regise fort he information about French Christmas customs.

About "giving Harry more balls" – He is just fifteen and a half isn't he? AND he comes from a muggle background. There's still lots he has to learn about the most trivial aspects of the wizarding world (trivial for wizards, that is). I've always thought that the DA affair where he's just Super!Harry was somewhat off the point.

Well, my friends, enjoy this chapter – kind of transitory, and without ANY action…

Chapter 38 Christmas Preparations

Of course, Harry thought, a private household could never be expected to be a match for the magnificent Hogwarts decorations, but he could not help feeling impressed nevertheless. Also, he had to admit that Vivienne Delisle hade a far more elegant way of putting said decorations up. Where Hagrid used to drag in the enormous Christmas trees into the Great Hall with pure physical strength, which he had to put upright with a good deal of huffing and puffing, a flick of her wand was enough to cause a room-high tree to materialise in the middle of the salon.

"Voila," she said in a casual tone, putting her wand away.

Harry, who, after that first display, had expected that the decorating of the tree itself would also be done by magic and would therefore hardly take up any time at all, was surprised to see that.

"All the decorations have to be put up by the family," Vivienne told him when she saw his surprise. "It is very bad luck if you are too lazy to do it yourself. And – yes, Harry you _are_ a member of the family, so – no shirking!"

Harry felt a warm feeling stealing over him at her words and he gladly opened one of the cardboard boxes that someone – most likely the house elves – had deposited on the large table.

Soon they were busy with the tree. Vivienne kept a careful eye on them to make sure none of them used any magic, even if Gabrielle kept complaining about it.

"Oh, this is stupid," she would say, stretching high to put a glass ornament or a twinkling star on a branch. "I _do_ know just the right spell…"

But her grandmother would have none of it.

"You know the rules," she said sternly, even if Harry thought he could detect secret amusement in her voice. "No magic to put anything on the tree."

Here, Harry had an idea.

"No magic to put anything on the tree?" he repeated thoughtfully. "Wait a mo- _Accio Firebolt!_"

With a swoosh the broom soared into his hands.

"It doesn't say no magic to move around, does it?" He enquired of Vivienne with a cheeky grin.

"You are a tricky devil," she replied with a smile. "But I guess you are right. Funny it never occurred to me before… But it's never too late to learn…"

And promptly she changed into a colourful tropical bird, picked up a glittering silvery star with a small twirling fairy in it in her beak and flew up to the tip of the tree where she deposited the ornament.

"Thanks for the hint, Harry," she said after transforming again. "I've always thought ladders and things were stupid muggle stuff."

Harry had been watching this performance with some surprise, and somehow felt deprived of credit for his idea. But Gabrielle's shining eyes more than made up for it.

"Hop on," he told her, grabbing his broom, and with a squeal of delight the little girl snatched up another ornament and did as she was told. Harry kicked off and together they circled the tree until Gabrielle had found a place that she considered suitable for it.

"Oh Harry!" she shouted when, after a crazy loop, they had landed again. "This is the best Christmas I've ever had!"

Meanwhile, Fleur told her mother about all the things that she had up to now kept to herself, in particular about the amulet that Gabrielle had found in the Forbidden Forest.

"Morgaine's necklace?" Isabeau said doubtfully.

"That's what Luna called it."

"Luna?"

"A fourth year Ravenclaw. She is strange – or, rather, extraordinary, - in many ways. It seems she can see things nobody else can see. Many other students just think she is a bit crazy, but I'm sure there is a lot more to her than that. The strange thing was that she seemed to recognise it at once – there is no way she could have known about it before she first saw me with it. However, it's gone, Wormtail must have stolen it in his rat form… There's no knowing where it may be now. Voldemort has it, most likely… Not that it makes much of a difference…"

"This Luna – tell me more about her."

"Well, there's not too much to tell, after all. There was that thing about the necklace, and once, I saw her behave in a very weird way…"

Fleur proceeded to tell her mother about the incident with the sandwich in front of the horseless carriage.

"What happened to that sandwich? It looked as if something had eaten it… Can it be that she can see things that are invisible?"

"Why not? I can think of several ways how that may be possible. Tell me, how does she look?"

"Slim, not very tall – but then she's still only fourteen – extremely pale skin, long sandy hair, not unlike mine, actually, only darker… but the most striking thing about her are her eyes: I have never seen such a shade of silvery blue before, sometimes almost pure silver, sometimes a very pale watery blue, and slightly protuberant, so she often has that surprised look about her…"

"Elvish."

"What?"

"She most likely has elvish blood… This would explain most of the things you say about her. No wonder she can see things nobody else can. Do you know anything about her family?"

"I have heard her mother died when she was very young, but she doesn't speak about her. She often talks about her father, though. He is the editor of a magazine that is apparently not considered to be of very high quality – Hermione keeps saying it's full of made-up impossible stories… about strange creatures that nobody has ever seen, for example… But I'm not sure – she doesn't sound as if she – oh, never mind, I like her, anyway."

"At any rate, if she really has some elvish talents, she will turn out to be a useful help-," Isabeau suddenly stopped herself. "Here I go again," she said ruefully. "Talking about people being _useful_, when it's about _friendship_. I still have a lot to learn, I am afraid…"

"But you are _willing_ to learn," Fleur told her, tears coming to her eyes again. "That's what really matters. Before, you'd never even have got the_ idea _to mention something like that. You did categorize people according to usefulness, after all…"

"Well, there's hardly anything I can say – except to ask your forgiveness again…," she shuddered, and Fleur put an arm round her. It felt strange to be comforting her mother – something she would never have dreamed of being possible only a day ago.

"There's something else I never told you," she said after a pause. "Luna was not the only one to come up with Morgaine. There were two more occasions, and they were even weirder in some way-," and she told Isabeau about the prank her friends had tried to pull on her, as well as her experience on Mayday eve.

"Hermione will say it's all been a dream," she finished doubtfully. "Do you think there could be anything in it?"

"Stranger things have happened. I expect you have figured out the meaning of that prophecy?"

"Yes," Fleur said proudly. "It must be about Harry and me – fire and water – oh, mama, do you think it could be our destiny to – defeat Voldemort all by ourselves?"

"It seems a likely explanation, to say the least; on the other hand, prophecies have a tendency to come true exactly because people believe them. They are not written in stone, so there may be a pretty good chance to just ignore it and-,"

"And run? Hide? No, Harry most certainly would never do that, and I – I'll stay by him, whatever it costs! Fleur Delacours does not run!"

"I am so proud of you," her mother said looking at her with shining eyes. "And I promise I'll do whatever I can to help you! Oh, I feel so much stronger now – let's join the others. Perhaps we can still do our share of the decorations."

"I've never enjoyed any Christmas like this!" Harry panted when he had finally unloaded a flushed and radiant Gabrielle from his Firebolt after the last decorations had been put on the tree. "In fact," he added as an afterthought, "I don't think I ever really enjoyed it at all before this," only to feel guilty thinking of what Ron or Hermione might have to say to that. "It used to be kind of lonely…"

Fleur, who had just entered with her mother, had heard that and she rushed over to him to hug him.

"Never again, Harry," she whispered in his ear, holding him tight, "never again, I promise!"

Vivienne, smiled at them indulgently.

"I hate to disturb you," she said. "But you still need to put up the mistletoe decorations." Then she turned to her daughter. "We ought to see to the dinner preparations, I want everything to be perfect – after all, it's not everyday that you have Albus Dumbledore for dinner."

"What's the matter?" Harry, who sensed a feeling of merriment in Fleur's mind and saw a mischievous grin spread in her face, enquired

"Nothing," she said innocently, batting her eyelashes at him. "Why?"

"Who do you think you're fooling?" Harry retorted, laughing. "You're up to something, doesn't need any Legilimency, I know that expression… Well, if you won't tell me, I'll just have to wait and see, I guess. Can't be anything worse than Fred and George's tricks, after all."

"It's nothing to do with you, anyway," Fleur told him. "No need to worry about that. But no, I certainly won't tell you, you'd most likely give everything away without knowing. So, I'm sorry about that…"

She turned to Gabrielle, put a hand on her shoulder and steered her into the farthest corner of the room, where Harry could see them talking – and giggling – excitedly.

"Well, at least it's nothing to do with me," he told himself, although watching them with some uneasiness.

When Fleur refused to let Harry help with the mistletoe, his suspicions grew, especially as Gabrielle almost choked on her giggles when Fleur gave her instructions.

"You are doing something about the mistletoe, right?" he said with raised eyebrows, which caused another giggling fit of the little girl's. "Not that you need to," he told Fleur. "It's not as if I hated kissing you, actually…"

"I know, Harry," Fleur replied softly, but with a sparkle in her eyes. "But I told you it was nothing to do with you, didn't I?"

"But- but then-," he turned pale as the idea suddenly hit him. "No, you are not! How can you imagine it would ever work? Oh, Fleur, you'll be in so much trouble!"

"Ah, Harry, it's Christmas time! What better time for an innocent prank? And how do you know mistletoe works the same way in France as it does in Britain? It might be some completely different spell…"

"So you _have_ enchanted them!" Harry cried triumphantly. "That's a confession!"

"Yes," Fleur smirked, "But you don't know with what spell! And I'm so not telling you! Come on Gabie, we have to do some more!"

"And just you wait, Harry, until _I_ catch you under one of them!" the little girl shouted gleefully and grinned at him cheekily.

Harry hid his face in his hands. "Whatever have I done to deserve this?" he groaned in mock desperation.

It was already getting dark, and the youngsters were downstairs in the kitchen with the house elves having a small snack – or what, in the eyes of the eager house elves, was considered a _small snack_, and for anybody else would have been a complete five course dinner.

Suddenly, with the usual pop, Iphigenie and Margaux Apparated in the kitchen. Delighted, Fleur jumped to her feet and rushed over to hug her friends.

"How absolutely wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I never expected-,"

"How little you know your friends," Margaux scolded, but with a twinkle in her eyes. "_Of course_ we were coming to see you! And give you your present!"

"We'll be off again right away," Iphigenie began, seemingly somewhat intimidated by the vast kitchen full of bustling house elves. "You will want to have a family celebration-,"

"Nonsense!" Fleur said decisively. "Of course you'll stay – for dinner at the very least. Do you know who's coming? You'll never guess! Albus Dumbledore!"

Margaux was clearly impressed, but Iphigenie now seemed positively frightened. "But – how can we intrude… the greatest wizard… your mother… not invited…,"

"I hereby formally invite you to our Christmas dinner," Fleur said, interrupting her. "If you wish, I can make it a written invitation with _rsvp_ on it, too. Just stop being silly now. We all love having you here. I'll have the house elves make a room ready for you so you can relax and have some refreshments. I'll fetch you when dinner is about to start."

"But – what shall we wear?" Iphigenie asked. "We didn't count on-,"

"Here you are being silly again," Fleur said. "Just look at you! Are you fashion experts or not? Now just let me talk to that elf…,"

With a click of her fingers she summoned an elf and gave her instructions.

"Your room will be ready for you in half an hour," she told her friends. "So why don't you just sit down here, grab some butterbeer and listen to our latest adventures – there's quite a lot to tell…"

Fleur, Gabrielle and Harry got so lost in the report of their recent exploits that nobody noticed how time passed, and it was considerably more than half an hour later, when a magical gong sounded a reverberating boom through the cavernous kitchen, sending the house elves into a veritable frenzy of activity, which caused Harry to wonder how they managed not to constantly fall over each other with their stacks of plates and dishes.

They had all jumped at the sound of the gong.

"Oh dear, we have completely forgotten the time," Fleur said. "Time to go up for dinner."

"But I haven't even done my hair!" Iphigenie wailed, and was only slowly calmed down by her girl friend.

"Too late for that now," Margaux told her. "And anyway, you look pretty enough for me, cherie."

"It does not matter, believe me," Fleur said reassuringly. "It's not as if this was a format ball or something, with a hundred guests – that would be a different thing, naturally, but as I've been telling you, it's a family affair."

"But – Dumbledore…" Iphigenie said weakly.

"I'm sure he won't eat you," Fleur replied. "He's an old friend of my grandmothers'. You'll see…"

She glanced over to Gabrielle, who fell into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, he's ok, Dumbledore," Harry contributed his share to Iphigenie's reassurance. "A bit secretive about things, perhaps, but ok, nothing to be afraid of."

Only half persuaded, Iphigenie allowed herself to be led upstairs and to the dining room.

Compared to the dinner at the ball, the Christmas dinner table was indeed a – relatively – humble affair. True, there was the same – or an identical – white tablecloth, the porcelain and silver cutlery, the crystal glasses and the floating candles above the table, but the table itself was a lot smaller, and laid out for eight people only. Obviously the house elves had already taken Iphigenie and Margaux' arrival into account. The tree was glittering in all its splendour, with fairy lights flitting all over it.

"How do you get these fairies to do that?" Harry asked.

"They have been living in the manor grounds for ages," Fleur explained. "Long before the land was owned by anybody. In fact, they find the whole idea of land _belonging _to anyone impossible to understand. To them, the land is just there, has always been, and always will, while so-called owners come and go… Fairies are immortal, you know," she added.

"So if land _can_ belong to anyone at all," Harry said thoughtfully, "it will be _them_ it belongs to."

He felt he had still a lot to learn about magical creatures.

"Clever of you to understand it so quickly," Fleur told him. "Many wizarding families find it much more difficult… But I guess it _is_ an uncomfortable idea – to think those fairies will still be there, as young and fresh as ever, when all of us are long gone…" She shivered slightly.

"But you wanted to know why they are doing that for us," she went on after a short pause. "I'm not quite sure myself, but as far as I know it's some kind of favour. There is no way you can _force_ fairies to do things. Whatever they do, they do it because they _want _to do it. My grandmother says they do it for the land rather than for the family. There may be some ancient kind of magic connected with it, some fertility charm for the land, most likely, but even she doesn't understand it completely. Which is no small thing, what with her being a spirit of nature herself, and all… Like the decorating of the tree by the family members, the fairy dance in it is supposed to bring good luck."

"But – aren't they supposed to live in flowers?" Harry asked, remembering of some books that, long ago, he had found in the rubbish bin at the Dursleys' because Dudley had thrown them away in disgust as they were not about alien monsters or robots.

"Wherever did you get that idea from? They are spirits of nature, much like Veela, so much is true, but they are just _there_… I'm not sure how to explain it – yes, it's true that they are connected with nature, but on a much larger scale… not just flowers, at any rate… woods, rivers, the like…"

"Can they _do_ anything? – Besides dancing and glittering like that?"

"I'm afraid not. And it's only magical people who can see even that. Muggles would not see anything at all."

"That's why fairy tales have such a bad name among muggles," Harry mused. "Seeing is believing, after all… But they certainly look nice…"

At this moment, one of the doors opened and Vivienne and Isabeau entered.

A/N: Any guesses at Fleur and Gabie's schemes?


	39. Chapter 39

A/N: Here is the new chapter, in which you are introduced to yet another character.

**Chapter 39 Mistletoe and Tiger's Eye**

"Ah, mes enfants," Vivienne beamed at them. "I see your friends have also come to see you, Fleur, that's lovely."

"If we may be so bold, madame," Iphigenie said hesitantly.

"Nonsense! Any friends of Fleur's are always welcome here. Just make yourselves at home."

"And now let's sit down for dinner," Isabeau told them. "I must say I'm starved. It's the first time since I don't know when that I'll be fully able to enjoy dinner – or enjoy anything, for that matter," she ended wistfully.

"But – where's Dumbledore?" Gabrielle inquired, looking, or so Harry thought, disappointed.

"He has a few things to look to," Vivienne said. "He said we shouldn't wait for him, he will be here as soon as he can make it."

When they moved over towards the table, there was a small interruption. As they were passing under an especially large branch of mistletoe, decorated with a sparkling gold ribbon, Margaux suddenly stopped. After looking around for a short moment with a slightly dazed expression, she suddenly grabbed Iphigenie round her waist to pull her into a passionate kiss.

Just when it seemed about impossible that any human being could survive so long without breathing, the two girls separated, panting heavily.

They seemed to take another minute or so to come back from wherever they had been, and when they finally did, both of them blushed deep red, while Fleur smiled at them happily and Gabrielle was breathless with suppressed giggles.

"It works!" she squealed, wiping tears from her eyes.

Harry felt his worst suspicions confirmed, but he did not say anything.

"I – I'm sorry," Iphigenie stammered, still out of breath and very embarrassed. "I don't know–,"

"Don't be sorry," Vivienne reassured her kindly. "You must never be sorry for loving somebody. And it was not even your fault – not that it would be any fault at all, mind you – it seems the Delacours mistletoes are particularly violent today…"

It seemed to Harry that she looked at Fleur in a rather shrewd way.

_She knows about your little sche__me, _he told Fleur in his mind. _I'm sure you cannot fool HER_.

_Just wait and see,_ she retorted, and again he felt her merriment bubbling happily._ It IS a pretty strong spell._

Just as they were all taking their seats, the door opened again and Dumbledore appeared. He looked splendid in robes of yellow, orange and red, colours that reminded Harry of Fawkes, the Phoenix. It seemed to him that Dumbledore looked a lot more energetic and confident than he had seen him ever before during the school year.

Presently, they all took heir seats at the table, with Dumbledore in the place of honour between Vivienne and Isabeau. As soon as they were seated, an immense variety of dishes appeared, and during the next half hour or so, everyone was enjoying the wonders of French _cuisine._ Even though Harry had already had some opportunity to compare it to the English way of cooking – a comparison that had not been very favourable for the English side – he was again surprised. Another thing that amazed him was the relaxed informal atmosphere, something that he would never have expected. And although he was quite aware of the reasons, Isabeau's behaviour never ceased to amaze him.

_She's quite a different person,_ he said to Fleur. _Almost human…_

She did not reply, but the wave of emotions that she let him share with her almost overwhelmed him.

It had taken Gabrielle only a few seconds to overcome her shyness, and very soon she was chatting away happily at Dumbledore. Harry felt the headmaster showed an amazing amount of patience answering all her questions.

"What's in the lake?" she would inquire, for example. "I mean, I was in there, I know, but it's not as if I really noticed anything."

And Dumbledore would patiently explain about the mer-people, the grindylows and the giant squid.

"It must be very interesting," Gabrielle said. "It's a real shame I was asleep all the time. Will I ever get back to Hogwarts some day?"

"But you will be going to Beauxbatons, won't you?"

"But I'd much rather go to Hogwarts!" she replied with a pout.

"Harry will just have graduated before you start," Fleur reminded her.

"Oh – "

"And anyway, it's still two more years until you can go to any school at all," her mother said gently.

"One and a half!"

"Unfortunately, times being what they are at the moment," Dumbledore said in a more serious tone, "there is no way to predict what's going to happen in two years' time – or one and a half, for that matter." His sombre mood had gone again. "But I think I can promise you, at least, that I will be able to arrange for you to spend a year at Hogwarts, should your mother agree."

Gabrielle beamed at him happily.

"Is _Vous-savez-quis_ as bad as Grindelwald?" she demanded a few minutes later.

Dumbledore put his knife and fork down, slowly wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked at her for some time before he began,

"This is a difficult question, and I'm afraid I cannot really answer it. Of course, _times _are very different… It seems muggles, at least, have become slightly less easy to manipulate… A full-fledged muggle war, as Grindelwald caused it, seems rather unlikely today, even if fighting and killing is happening in several places all over the planet all the time… No, in that respect, Grindelwald's time was certainly worse… But it's not for Voldemort's lack of trying, to be sure… So, compared as one dark wizard to another, no, I don't think they are any different. In fact, I even believe that the evil essence in both of them is exactly the same… Some impersonal evil force that now and then succeeds in materialising… Yes, in a way, I suppose you could say Tom Riddle is a victim… I am not saying he is innocent," he added, seeing Harry's expression, "It's true he had an unhappy childhood, as an orphan and an outsider; but he did make a choice, and he did know the choice he was making was wrong even if I don't think he really knew what he was letting himself in for. And anyway, he is long past any human reasoning. You do not reason whether a flood or an earthquake are evil – you just do your best to protect yourself from them." He paused, looked thoughtfully at the little girl and added. "You understand what I want to say?"

Gabrielle nodded eagerly, her eyes wide.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Then you are already a lot wiser than several grown-up wizards that I could name…"

The twinkle was back in his eyes, and he turned to Isabeau.

"Allow me to compliment you on this excellent dinner, madame. It is not often that I have enjoyed anything comparable to it – and I think I may say I have had the opportunity to sample some of the more famous kitchens of Europe…"

"Thank you," she said, beaming at him. "I have always been aiming at the very best…" She thought for a moment, and then continued. "Of course, it's mostly due to the house-elves…"

_I don't believe it_, Fleur told Harry, and he could sense her surprise very clearly._ I don't think she's ever so much as mentioned house-elves, and now…_

_Hermione would love that,_ Harry agreed.

They were in the middle of the third course – venison with chestnuts and assorted greens, - when with a loud crack another person Apparated into the room.

The newcomer was a man of about forty or forty-five, of rather unkempt general appearance. There were deep lines in his sunburnt face, his long dark-blond hair needed a good wash, and he obviously hadn't shaved for several days. His travelling cloak was covered in dust and looked altogether the worse for wear. He was carrying a large jute sack on his shoulder.

After a moment of surprise, it was, curiously enough, Dumbledore who spoke up first.

"Monsieur Delacour, I presume?"

Only now Isabeau and the girls rose from their seats to welcome the man.

"This is indeed a surprise, Gerard," his wife said. And in a warm voice she continued. "I am so glad you have been able to make it – today of all times!"

She kissed his scruffy face, and all his posture expressed his own surprise at this welcome.

After introductions had duly been made – he did not seem particularly surprised to find Harry Potter in his house on Christmas Eve – and a place had been found for him at the table, everybody settled down again. The general interest in the food, however, had more or less died down now, as everybody was more or less talking at the same time, to fill the master of the house in about the turbulent events of the last few days.

He said nothing during this barrage of female voices, only helped himself to some food like a man who has clearly not eaten nearly enough for some time.

"Let me just get this straight," he said after most of the hubbub had calmed down. "My eldest daughter tried her best to seduce Harry Potter…"

"No!" Fleur interrupted heatedly, "I was bewitched!"

"Tried, but did not succeed," her father went on, unperturbed, but with a hint of amusement in his voice, "Thanks to a restraint and presence of mind of said Harry Potter, that are indeed exceptional, especially in the circumstances give. My respect, Mr. Potter…"

"Anybody would have reacted like me," Harry said feeling himself blushing with embarrassment. "And call me Harry; please."

"If you insist, Harry. But it's certainly not nothing; extremely few people can resist the Veela charm, believe me…"

He glanced affectionately at his wife, who reached for his hand across the table.

"Be that as it may," Gerard continued. "After that, my second daughter gets abducted by evil wizards, and is taken to some secret chamber of torture or something, where my esteemed mother-in-law, with the help of said Harry Potter and my eldest daughter rescue her almost single-handedly, destroying _Vous-savez-quis_' most faithful servant in the process. Have I got that part correct?"

"Perfectly," Vivienne assured him.

"And as if that was not enough, my wife is found to have been under some curse for the better part of the year that has only now been lifted. Right?"

Again everybody agreed.

"And in addition to all that, it seems that said wife has made good use of that time when she was imprisoned in her own mind and has reached some conclusions and resolutions…"

"Indeed I have," Isabeau said quietly, squeezing his hand.

"Well, if that's not the greatest Christmas present ever, I don't know what is. I must confess, cherie, I used to be somewhat less than happy with …"

He stopped himself, and went on,

"However, it's never too late for a new start, is it? And what better time for a new start than Christmas time?"

"You won't regret it!" Isabeau said. "Trust me!"

_Are there really tears in her eyes?_ Fleur said to Harry._ I've never seen her cry – not before yesterday, at any rate._

_Yes,_ Harry replied, _let's just hope the lesson she learned is a lasting one._

"But now, Papa," Fleur addressed her father, "Why don't you tell us where you have been and what you've been up to?"

"Indeed, monsieur," Dumbledore spoke up for the first time again. "I expect you had an interesting journey?"

"Interesting is rather a mild expression," Gerard began. "Well, I had heard of some ancient magical artefacts that were supposed to be in one of the more obscure monasteries in Tibet. Now of course it's always suspicious when you hear this sort of thing; more often than not it's just talk, and in my experience it's very often a waste of time and money, as well as risking your health or your life searching for things according to such rumours…"

"What sort of artefacts?" Gabrielle inquired impatiently. "Just get to the point already, papa!"

"Now, now, is that a way to speak to your father?" he reproached her, but his voice was kind. "I am perhaps not one to follow the voice of reason as the foremost guideline of my life-" here he glanced at his wife for a moment, "and so you can guess that I went to Tibet as soon as I was able to get away. Now Tibet in itself is a fabulous country, even by muggle standards, but the wizarding traditions are quite amazing… But it would certainly take far too long to relate all my experiences and adventures there. Well, it took me a couple of months' search of a number of monasteries high up in the Himalayas – yetis are perfectly friendly and highly intelligent creatures, by the way, - until I could at last persuade an old monk to let me have a look into a cave that, as he told me, contained some strange artefacts that had been in the monastery's possession for so many centuries that with some of them, nobody remembered where they had come from, or what, if any, special magical qualities they possessed, let alone how to use them."

"And what did you find?" Dumbledore asked politely.

"Well, various items that looked like pensieves of a kind, some rings and other ornaments, goblets and several lockets… the usual stuff, more or less. I used the basic magic detection test on them, and it seemed that they were all quite ordinary, the average shielding charm or memory enhancement, or something of the sort; however, in the darkest corner of that cave, I found – this…"

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and produced a rough hewn wooden box, black and clearly ancient, and put it on the table.

"What is it?" Gabrielle asked, sounding bored.

With a grand gesture Gerard opened the box.

"Voila!"

Inside the box, on deep blue velvet, was a dagger, six or seven inches long. The thin silvery blade and the golden hilt shimmered in the light of the candles.

If Gerard had expected his audience to register stunned surprise or some other sort of enthusiasm, he was disappointed.

"So it's some old dagger," Gabrielle said dismissively. "What's so grand about some old knife?"

"It's not some old knife, cherie," her father told her. "Look!"

He took the dagger out of the box and turned the hilt towards the chandelier. A flash of yellow-golden light shot from the weapon like a bolt of lightning. Only now they saw the large round yellow jewel that was set in the hilt.

"It's beautiful!" Gabrielle exclaimed eagerly.

"Yes, isn't it?" her father said proudly, putting it back into its box. "It's an extraordinarily large and bright specimen of tiger's eye. And it would be lovely just because of that alone. However…"

"I suppose you tested it for its magical qualities," Dumbledore said. "And I daresay you found it remarkable in that respect, too."

"Naturally. It's an item of exceptionally strong magic… But until now I have not been able to find out what that magic is about. In fact, monsieur, I was thinking of asking you to examine it for me…"

"With pleasure," Dumbledore replied. "If you'll allow me to take it to Hogwarts with me, I'm confident we will be able to find out more. May I-"

Carefully he picked up the instrument and looked at it more closely.

"You noticed of course the one strange thing right away," he said thoughtfully, "considering you found this in Tibet?"

"Yes; its shape and decorations are certainly not oriental; in fact, the patterns on the hilt remind me of…"

"Early Britannic wizarding culture, exactly; I wouldn't be surprised, though, if this went back even earlier, you know…"

"Atlantis?"

"That's what I had in mind, yes. I certainly can feel the magic in it, it will be an interesting research task I'm sure."

"But – how did it come to be in Tibet?" Fleur spoke up.

"Who knows? If it's really Atlantean, some survivors who reached that part of the world after the deluge may have taken it with them… Actually, this is why the old monk let me take it with me. He knew it was alien to him and his people, he told me it wanted to go home…"

"Go home?" Harry said in surprise. "How can it – _want_ to _do_ something? Want to do _anything_? I mean – it's not alive, is it? It's just a thing…"

"Magical objects are often very strange, Harry," Dumbledore told him earnestly. "Some of them do seem to develop a life of their own…"

"Like the Sorting Hat?" Harry asked, but he knew already what the Headmaster was talking about.

"Exactly. Don't ask me to explain it, Harry. I have known that old Hat for a long time, but I still have no idea how it works… But I am convinced it knows exactly what it wants… Just think of its songs each year…"

"I see," said Harry, feeling slightly guilty for not listening to those songs more carefully. Somehow he had always taken the Sorting Hat for granted, and had never asked himself how it might be performing its tasks. "But it – at least it can talk," he said lamely.

"There are other ways of communication, as you surely know," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Moreover, who's got to say this dagger here won't burst into song, too, once someone finds out how to make it?"

He paused and helped himself to a piece of the chocolate-and-chestnut cake.

"Ah, the fine old Yule Log," he said at last, leaning back in his chair. "It's always good to see the ancient traditions upheld, especially in troubled times like these… Now, ladies-" he bowed slightly to Vivienne and Isabeau, "it's been a most enjoyable evening, thank you so much for your kind hospitality. I'll take good care of your treasure, monsieur,-" here he addressed Gerard, "an will keep you up to date with the course of our investigations. Of course, you are always welcome at Hogwarts should your time permit. And now I am afraid I have to leave…"

He rose from his chair, pocketing the box with the dagger in his robes.

"Of course you are not leaving, Albus!" Vivienne, who had also got up from her seat said in her strictest no-nonsense voice. "There is a room ready for you, and we just will not hear anything about you leaving now!"

"But I do not wish to trespass any longer-"

_Watch out, Harry!_ Fleur's thoughts, bubbling merrily again, were in his mind. Looking up, he noticed that, during this last exchange, Vivienne and Dumbledore had somehow ended up under the mistletoe.

Before anybody could say or do anything, the Veela and the Headmaster were in each other's arms, and even if it could not be seen clearly through the curtain of silver-blond and pure white hair, there was little doubt that what was happening was not very different from Margaux' and Iphigenie's activities earlier that evening.

Everybody was staring at the scene, speechless, until the pair broke apart.

"I did tell you the Delacour mistletoes were particularly violent today, Albus, didn't I?" Vivienne, sounding only very slightly breathless, said cheerfully.

"So I noticed, Vivienne," the Headmaster replied with a smile, straightening his white beard. "I do hope the experience was not completely disagreeable to you…" His eyes behind his glasses were twinkling more merrily than Harry had ever seen.

"Is this particular sort of mistletoe specific of the Delacour estate, mademoiselle?" Dumbledore addressed Fleur after a short pause.

_He knows_! If thoughts could gasp then Fleur's were definitely gasping.

"Er – well – I –," she stammered, blushing furiously.

"Of course they are, professor," Gabrielle piped up. "They are our most famous speciality!" she added with a cheeky grin.

"Ah, I thought it must be something of the kind," Dumbledore said chuckling to himself. "Well, madame," he turned to Vivienne again, addressing her in exaggerated formality, offering his arm, "Why don't you show me to my quarters that you so generously insisted I stay at? I suppose there are a few things we have to discuss." During these words he shot Fleur a penetrating glance that was, however, mollified by his smile.

"Of course, professor," Vivienne replied imitating his demeanour. "There certainly are some – er – pedagogical matters we ought to consider…"

With these words the two of them left the room.

"Now we're in for it," Fleur said, her voice trembling. "They know everything!"

"Oh, there's nothing to worry about," Gabrielle chirped happily. "I'm sure they take it the right way. It's just a joke, isn't it? And I can always say it was my idea," she added when she saw Fleur's doubtful expression. "And now, Harry, watch out – I'll get you under that mistletoe, yet!"

"No, you won't, you minx!" Harry laughed, grabbing Fleur's hand and pulling her towards the shrubbery in question. And for the third time that evening, the magical herb performed its duty…

A/N: I'm not sure mistletoe is a herb, but I couldn't think of a better word at the moment…


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40 Real Holidays, for a change**

"There's one thing I don't understand", Harry told Fleur thoughtfully when they walked up the stairs towards their rooms.

"What?" Fleur's thoughts had obviously been somewhere else.

"That spell you put on that mistletoe. I mean – Dumbledore isn't just some wizard, he's – well, he's _Dumbledore_! He should have been able to deal with a schoolgirl's prank without so much as blinking… And then, your grandmother – Merlin, she is practically that sort of spell incarnate! She would-," he stopped, bewildered, looking at Fleur's complacent expression, and an idea dawned on him.

"You – you don't mean to tell me they – yes, you _do _mean exactly that… But how…?"

"Let's just say our family have a feeling for that kind of thing," Fleur told him smugly. "I knew my grandmother had had a soft spot for him for quite some time, I only wasn't sure about him…"

"But he did not really kick up a row, did he?" Gabrielle piped up. "So I don't think he was completely horrified by it all, was he? Or he would, as Harry says, have had no trouble countering that spell…"

She grinned at Harry, that cheeky grin that he found so adorable in the small girl.

"Girls!" he said, but nobody seemed to quite believe the note of exasperation he tried so hard to put into this single word.

When they arrived at their various doors – Iphigenie and Margaux had been given their room next to Fleur's – another thought struck Harry.

"How – how do you arrange for the presents?"

"What presents?"

"Christmas presents; I'd hate to do something wrong. I mean – I don't want to miss giving them to you the right – traditional – way…"

Fleur gave him an affectionate hug.

"Of course you'd worry about a thing like that… Just make sure you have the names on them, the house elves will deposit them under the tree in the night. But – I really don't need any present from you, Harry; you have already given me the greatest present …"

She pulled Gabrielle towards her tightly.

"The second time," she added softly.

Harry, who knew from experience that it was no use arguing with her that Gabrielle had been perfectly safe during the second task, blushed in spite of himself, but did not respond.

"Well, I guess we'd better say good night now," he said instead. "It's been a long day…"

After a remarkably pleasant sleep – he vaguely remembered dreaming, but could not have said what about exactly – Harry woke up with bright sunshine streaming through his window. When the recent events came back into his mind, he could scarcely believe them. But before he could start thinking again about everything, Fleur was suddenly perched on his bedside, bending down to kiss him softly. He withdrew without thinking.

"Don't worry, cherie," she said quietly. "It's really me, this time…"

And when he reached out to her mind, he realised soon enough that she was not under any Imperius curse.

"What a relief," he said, smiling at her, and giving in to the kiss. He was not going to forget that frightening experience in a hurry.

"Time to get up, sweetheart," she told him after some time. "It's gift getting time now. And Gabie…

"Is right here!" came the little girl's voice. She plopped down on the bed and started tickling him, giggling happily.

"Ahh, gerroff me!" he gasped, jumping out of bed and fumbling for his glasses. "Let a guy get ready…"

When they all came down into the salon, Fleur's parents, as well as Vivienne and Dumbledore, were already at the breakfast table.

_It's the first time in I don't know how long they are sitting together at the same table,_ Fleur told Harry silently.

_Yes, they look quite happy with themselves, don't they? _Harry replied. _And look at Dumbledore…_

And indeed, the headmaster seemed to be wearing a rather smug expression and appeared to be sitting unnecessarily close to Fleur's grandmother, considering the enormous size of the breakfast table.

_I told you so, didn't I?_ Again the exuberant merriment in Fleur's thoughts that Harry enjoyed so much was there. _There's nothing like a well-charmed mistletoe to help people realise things…_

Breakfast passed in a happy and light-hearted mood, without anybody bringing up the topic of mistletoe at all. When finally the table had been cleared, Isabeau announced,

"Time for presents!" indicating the neatly sorted stacks of parcels under the tree.

The next few minutes were filled with rustling paper, now and then accentuated by exclamations of surprise, and thanks.

"Great, Harry!" Fleur said, unwrapping a pair of Quidditch gloves. "Just the right thing for the upcoming match! If I hadn't had those freezing fingers last time…"

A great relief surged through Harry, who had not been certain at all if his present was a good choice. In fact, he had contemplated getting her perfume, but when he remembered Ron's gift to Hermione, he had quickly abandoned the idea.

"Glad you like them," he said, rather sheepishly. "I just wanted to give you something practical…"

"It's fantastic," he said a few moments later, looking at the lion-shaped clasp in Fleur's parcel._ And so much better than those stupid gloves,_ he said to himself silently.

Fleur, however, was not to be fooled.

_Stop that at once, Harry Potter! _She told him sternly. _I LOVE your present, especially as it's NOT the normal sort of thing ANYone might give a girl._

"It's supposed to have belonged to Gryffindor himself," she said aloud. "That's what the shopkeeper told me. But it's a lot of rubbish, of course. She even let me have it one third cheaper than she said at first. So it can't be true, obviously." _So, no need for any inferiority complex, see?_

Gabrielle squealed with delight when she unwrapped Harry's gift.

"Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed, hugging him. "A SimQuid! How did you know? I've wanted one for ages!"

"A what?"

"Oh, papa, you ARE behind! A SimQuid. Look, it's like a broomstick; but it's charmed in a way that when you sit on it, you can perform all the important Quidditch manoeuvres without ever leaving the ground. The charm gives you the feelings of flying, but you can stay indoors all the time. You can set it for seeker, beater or chaser, and you can even programme weather conditions… It's the perfect way of practising!"

"The things they dream up these days," Gerard Delacour said with a smile.

"Actually," Dumbledore spoke up, "I hear there are plans to put on the market a simulation game based on the recent Triwizard Tournament… There's supposed to be big money in a thing like that."

"Lovely!" Gabrielle shouted eagerly. "With a model of everyone in the Tournament? Of the dragons, and Harry, and – me?"

"This, I am told, seems to be the general idea."

"But they'll cut out the part about Voldemort, I expect," Harry said rather grimly.

"That, I am reasonably convinced, will indeed be the case, Harry."

The rest of the day, they took advantage of the mild Mediterranean weather and spent long hours on their brooms, on which occasion Gabrielle proved herself to be an equally talented flyer as her elder sister. Isabeau, even though she did not pretend to be overjoyed with both her daughters' unladylike pastimes, watched them occasionally and seemed to be happy enough to see them having such a good time.

"I'm happy when you are," she said and hugged the two girls. "I'm only sorry it took me so long to realise…"

Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts in the afternoon and Vivienne announced she would have to leave the day after, much to the dismay of her granddaughters.

"I have to go back, cherie," she told Fleur privately. "There are lessons to prepare and other things to do…"

"Like what?"

"Erm – staff meetings and things… Oh, stop smirking, you naughty brat!"

"Let's do something new today," Gabrielle said at breakfast next morning. "As long as the two of you are here…"

Fleur mused for a moment. "How's this?" she asked at last. "Why don't we go up into the alps? I could do with the feeling of winter for a change. How about it, Harry?"

"Whatever you say. It's you who knows things around here, isn't it?"

Thus, after an hour or so, Fleur Apparated them all to the place she had chosen for their outing. When Harry got his bearings again, his first impression was of cold, and he was grateful for the fur-lined cloak Fleur had made him put on.

They were standing in knee-deep snow (thigh-deep, in Gabrielle's case) in front of a little chalet of dark brown wood apparently high up in the mountains.

"Voila!" Fleur said proudly. "Far away from any muggles and unplottable by any Ministry spells."

She had hardly finished when Gabrielle threw the first snowball at her; a second later a vicious snowball battle was raging and soon Harry felt hot enough in spite of the frosty air.

When, after some time, flushed and soaked, they collapsed laughing in the snow, Fleur suggested to get some hot drinks and put some drying spells on their clothes. So they sat down at the table in the sun in front of the cabin, and out of nowhere steaming mugs of hot chocolate appeared, which they happily drained.

After that, at Gabrielle's request, they built a large model of Hogwarts, and then, following Fleur's descriptions, another of Beauxbatons.

"It's more beautiful," Harry admitted grudgingly. "I can understand you were not too happy with it when you arrived at Hogwarts."

"But now it's different," Fleur told him. "Because there's something at Hogwarts that Beauxbatons sorely misses – you!"

She leaned in to kiss him and they only broke apart when Gabrielle became impatient.

Another exceptionally bright winter's day, when Gabrielle was off visiting a friend from her preparatory school, Fleur took Harry to see Paris.

"Of course Paris in the snow would be even better," she said when they arrived in the perfectly dry Champs Elysees. "But at least we don't have the awful dirt and slush that even the most beautiful snow turns into within a few hours."

They went up the hill to Sacre Coeur, where Fleur showed him the place of the Dementor's attack.

"It feels strange," she whispered and snuggled up to him, shivering at the memory.

At a loss for words, Harry put his arms around her and held her close, burying his face in her hair.

"I can't promise it will be any use," he said at last, "But I promise I'll not let anything like that happen to you, ever…"

Later, they met with Margaux and Iphigenie at the _Chaudron Decoulant_ and spent the afternoon chatting away amicably about the newest fashion trends and Quidditch, taking care not to mention Voldemort or the recent dramatic events.

It was already dark, a clear, starry sky, when Fleur and Harry, among a large number of muggles, queued up at the lift to the platform of the Eiffel Tower.

"It's beautiful!" Harry said in awe, looking across the sea of lights below.

"Yes, isn't it?" Fleur replied happily. "I'm so glad you like it just like I do…"

Hand in hand they stood there in silence for a while, until Fleur spoke again.

"Whatever the New Year has in store for us, we will face it together!"

Their lips met and time seemed to stop.

_Water and fire…_

Sooner than Harry could have wished, New Year's Day and with it the time for their departure for school was there. This time, the portkey was – of all things – a box of chocolates.

"Chocolates?" Harry said, surprised.

"Not just any chocolates," Isabeau told him. "Lady Godiva's Best Belgian Pralines. Not very magical, except for the taste. And, of course, for the self-replenishing charm that's guaranteed to last for at least three weeks."

Gabrielle was devastated to say good-bye, apparently the time with Harry made it even harder for her.

"Don't cry, _ma petite_," Isabeau said gently. "You and me, we are going to watch Fleur playing her next match at Hogwarts, shall we?"

At which Gabrielle's sobs changed to a scream of happiness and she flung herself into her mother's arms.

_NOW I'll believe anything,_ Fleur told Harry silently just as the portkey was activated and transported them both back to the Great Hall at Hogwarts.


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41 Back at School**

Their arrival went quite unnoticed; the Hogwarts Express must have arrived shortly before, and there were large numbers of students streaming in through the front doors, their travelling cloaks covered in snow and their faces red with cold.

"Welcome back to the Scottish winter," Harry said ruefully to Fleur.

"No problem," she replied happily. "I've quite come to like this musty old castle… And I'm really looking forward to normal, everyday school life, for a change, if you must know…"

"Hermione will be proud of you," Harry told her with a grin. "Well, see you at dinner…"

* * *

"Hi, Harry!" Ron's voice greeted him when he entered the Gryffindor common room, and Harry noted with a smile that both he and Hermione were wearing identical Weasley jumpers – with a large H on Hermione's.

"Had fine holidays?" Ron went on, "You'll have to tell us everything…"

"I'll certainly not tell you exactly everything," Harry replied. "But nevertheless, there is quite a lot that still remains, just listen to this…"

Both of his friends listened eagerly, and Ron's delighted scream "The rat's gone!" surprised a considerable number of the other students in the room. After the long tale, it was Hermione who spoke first.

"So, if I've understood that correctly, Fleur is here because Voldemort wants her to be?"

"So much seems to be certain."

"But – why? Why should he even think she might be important enough? And if he wants to harm her, why get her to Hogwarts, where it is HARDER for him to get at her?"

"I wish I had an idea – but not even Dumbledore has come up with a theory. It's a complete mystery. We'll just have to be extra careful…"

"And what's that about a hidden portkey?" Ron asked.

"No idea again, but if I remember the Triwizard cup…"

"So you'd better not touch anything strange…"

"Ron!" Hermione said reproachfully, "They could make ANYthing into a portkey, couldn't they? No, there must be some spells to check an object for portkey enchantments… We'd better start researching that first thing tomorrow…"

"No," Ron groaned, "Not the library again! It's not even school yet, and you're talking about research?"

"Well," Harry said, "We don't know if Wormtail was even speaking the truth – perhaps he was just boasting… And even if he was, who says that portkey will operate from Hogwarts? In fact, wouldn't it be pretty difficult to get it into the castle at all? No, I believe if there is any funny business, they'll try it outside Hogwarts; Hogsmeade perhaps, or something… But of course it will be a good idea to find that spell," he added, somewhat hastily, on seeing Hermione's look.

"Well, I don't expect they'll enchant the plates or cups," Ron said. "I'm hungry!"

* * *

At the Ravenclaw table, Fleur found Lyra and Luna deep in conversation. Remembering her mother's ideas about Luna's ancestry, she felt strangely shy when she sat down next to them.

"Hello," Luna said brightly, apparently unaware of all that. "So you did have a good time, after all?"

Fleur wondered vaguely at the strange wording of so conventional a question when Lyra put in,

"How could she not?" sounding amused and winking at Fleur, causing her to blush. "You remember who she was with, don't you?"

"I don't mean that," Luna replied. "I mean the other thing…"

"Other thing?"

"Of course; the grave danger was resolved and wrong put right… Wasn't it, Fleur?"

Fleur, completely dumbfounded, nodded.

"How-?"

"The crystal ball… The images were not clear … but I could see you in a dungeon… and – you vanquished the Dark Lord's servant, didn't you?"

"Yes! But-"

"And a great wrong was put right, too… but I could not see what it was…"

"My mother and the curse! Luna, how can you…"

"I don't understand anything," Lyra put in. "Will somebody please tell me what you two are talking about?"

So, for the next half hour or so, Fleur had to tell her friends what had happened during her holidays, accompanied by gasps of surprise from Lyra and the calm nodding of Luna now and then.

"And you are telling me you saw all that in that crystal ball of yours?" Lyra said incredulously.

"Yes," Fleur added, "And if you could see it, why didn't you tell me?"

""It's not so easy," Luna said, her tone much like that of a mother explaining a simply thing to a not very bright child. "First of all, I couldn't see it _before_ it happened, - my mum could, you know, but not me, not yet, anyway… Secondly, the images were very indistinct; I could see it was about you and Harry, but I had no idea _where_ it was… and the rest of it, - about your mother, - was absolutely mysterious; as I've told you before, a great wrong put right, but I could not have said anything more…"

"Have you – have you ever thought of becoming a Seer?"

"No, I don't think Seeing is any use at all." Luna's voice was unusually decisive.

"What? But everybody wants to know about their future!"

"Of course they do, Lyra." Luna replied in the same patient tone as before. "But it's no _use,_ is it? When there's something good in store for you, you won't enjoy it half as much if you know it's coming, don't you think? And if it's something bad -,"

She did not finish the sentence and looked at her two friends.

"I see what you mean," Fleur said, quite impressed by the fourth-year's logic. "You cannot change the past, but you cannot change the future, either, right?"

"More than that," Luna answered earnestly. "How can you be sure that, as soon as you know a prediction, - and believe it, of course, - you don't do _exactly _what is needed to make it come true? So that a prediction is fulfilled _because_ it has been made, not the other way round…"

"You quite make my head spin," said Lyra. "But I think I understand. It's called a self-fulfilling prophecy, isn't it?"

"Something like that, yes. Mind you, I'm not saying prophecies are _always_ useless. The Atlanteans, for example… They knew for a century that their continent would be destroyed; so they could prepare themselves, and their race survived…"

Fleur remembered Hermione's reaction when she heard Atlantis mentioned last year and smiled to herself. Luna and Hermione really were different…

"And you?" she asked. "I hope your time here at Hogwarts was not too boring?"

"Not much," Luna answered serenely. "We talked a lot…"

"Yes, we found we have a lot in common," Lyra continued.

"We both lost our mother, for one," Luna went on. "Well, not exactly…"

"At least that's what my dad says," Lyra said. "He still hopes he will find her again some day… But he never tells me exactly what happened…" She paused, then went on, "Can't you consult that crystal ball of yours?"

"But I don't need a crystal ball for that," Luna replied calmly. "We ALL meet our loved ones again some day, don't we?"

After that, she devoted her further attention to the dishes that had appeared on the table and was silent.

* * *

Classes started on the following day, and if the OWL and the NEWT students had thought their homework couldn't get any tougher, it took them only a day or two to realise how wrong hey had been.

Even Professor Flitwick, who had hitherto put the main emphasis of his teaching on the practical side, set them long essays on the qualities and dangers of water and fire charms, completed by a similar task on the most effective ways to block them from Professor Woods.

"There is also a written exam in your NEWTS," he told the seventh-years. "And much as I would prefer to deal with the practical aspects only, we just can't take the chance that you lose valuable points in that area."

Things were not very different for Harry and the other OWL students, so he and Fleur could only rarely find some time to spend together

On top of the mountains of homework, Roger Davies called the Ravenclaw team for Quidditch practice pretty much every evening.

"Slytherin are a tough task," he would tell them in his customary pep talk before each session, "But we can beat them… And beat them we must, if we want to have any chance to still win the house cup."

In addition to normal practice, Roger had asked Fleur to keep up her special tutoring of the newcomers, and she had to admit that their chances were improving, the formally abysmal youngsters were now simply mediocre, and Padma Patil had actually developed into a pretty good flyer with remarkably powerful handling of her bat.

And as if all that was not enough, Fleur practised privately with Harry, who often teased her about her eagerness to win. She was surprised at all the spectacular tricks she learned that she would never have dreamed about only a few months ago, until even the famous Wronski-feint seemed like an everyday manoeuvre to her.

"If you just see those bludgers coming, you'll have no problems," Harry told her one evening. Just remember, playing Slytherin means a bludger can come from any direction at any time, no matter where the quaffle is. Fairness is not in the Slytherin vocabulary, never forget that!"

"Don't I know it!" Fleur said grimly. "But that's just one more reason to squash them, isn't it?"

"That's my girl!" Harry said with a happy grin, and kissed her. "And none of them is even close to your abilities!"

"Thanks to you," Fleur whispered, returning the kiss.

"Oh dear, the Gryffindor team are going to kill me!"

"Ha, I'd like to see them try!"

* * *

Vivienne was back to her former persona, and it took Fleur a lot of self-restraint not to tell Harry who the severe middle-aged greying teacher really was. Sometimes she could not believe he had not yet found out.

A couple of days after start of term, Professor Woods told the fifth-years:

"The Confundus Charm, as you will already have heard in a previous year, is a very powerful and useful spell indeed. Why is that?"

Hermione's hand was in the air before the professor had even finished the question.

"It befuddles the senses and thus renders the subject unable to perform sensible actions. It's great advantage is that it doesn't cause physical injury and does not leave any lasting mental damage either."

"Very good; which variants of the Confundus Charm have you already studied?"

"Disorientation, giddiness, blindfolding, temporary deafness."

"I see. All very clever and useful charms. And I trust you already learned how to block these spells?"

"Of course," Neville said.

"And did you find that difficult? Mr Finnegan?"

"Well – it depends… if your reaction is quick enough, it's not much of a problem, is it?"

"Understandably enough; and that's because…"

"You can see the spell coming towards you and can duck or put up a shielding charm."

"And if you have a very good eye you can tell the form of it by the colour. Now, what if there is a variant of Confundus that you _do not_ see?"

The class was silent, even Hermione had no answer to this. Suddenly Harry remembered Moody putting the Imperius Curse on him last year.

"You can only notice it as soon as it starts to take effect and _only then_ you will be able to do something against it."

"Good, Mr Potter." Harry thought he noticed an amused twinkle in the professor's eyes, but was sure he must be mistaken. "This, of course, is the difficult part, and I do not expect all of you to mange it right away. But with some perseverance you should master it until the end of term. Now, I am not going to teach you the charm itself, it is nothing a fifth year should learn, even if you could, which I doubt. – With one exception or two…" she said after a pause, looking, or so it seemed to Harry's surprise, not at Hermione but at Padma Patil.

"Now I want you to get together in groups of three, and then I'll put that charm on one of each group… For a start, it will be your task to recognise the symptoms of the spell by watching each other and yourself. Ready?"

During the next couple of minutes, some people started to behave very strangely: Parvati, for example, started to comb her long ink-black hair, singing; Seamus was somersaulting across the room, and Ron began telling nobody in particular how he was the greatest Quidditch keeper Gryffindor had ever had and had already got three offers to play for famous professional teams.

"I'm going to leave this lousy old school and be a millionaire," he said loudly, while Harry and Hermione exchanged looks of amusement.

"Finite Incanatem!" came the professor's voice. Everybody desisted from their behaviour, and some people turned red with embarrassment.

"I have made an utter fool of myself, haven't I?" Ron muttered under his breath, avoiding his friends' eyes.

Harry did not have the heart to tell him just how short of his recent ranting his current keeper abilities actually were and kept quiet. Hermione, however, said in a soothing tone,

"No more than several others in this classroom. And it's not your fault; you _were _enchanted, after all…"

"Now, if you have all calmed down," the professor said, sounding amused, "let us revise what you have just experienced. I suppose it was not so difficult for those unaffected by the spell to recognise those that were…"

"Hard not to," Seamus mumbled, still looking embarrassed.

"My question, though," Woods continued, "is this: What did the targets of the spell feel and think? What made you do these things?"

"I – I suddenly had the feeling I had to impress everybody…" Parvati said slowly. "Like my life depended on everybody in the classroom appreciating how wonderful I was…"

The other 'targets' nodded, obviously glad someone had answered the question for them.

"A very good description," the professor said approvingly. "This is what the spell does: It forces the victims to do and say the most absurd things in order to show off to nobody in particular. Even if it may be funny sometimes, in some situations it can be dangerous… My next question now is this: Did you notice at all that you were being enchanted, and if you did, how did you realise it? Try to describe it as well as you can."

All the students that had been under the spell gave a description of their experiences. Most of them had only noticed something was wrong when they were well in their performances.

"It's like watching yourself from a distance," Neville summed it up. "As if you were imprisoned in your own mind, and helpless to do anything to stop that strange person doing all sorts of mad things."

"Excellent," the professor said. "This is exactly what all these curses do. Even though what you were exposed to is a far cry from Imperius, - and of course no teacher would ever use it on a student, not even for demonstration, - basically, the method and effect are similar. Now for the difficult part: Resisting the spell once you realise it is working on you. The crucial thing for you is to reassure yourself. You have to mentally shout at yourself not to be stupid, and _at the same time_ tell yourself that you are a strong and independent person capable to make your own decisions – a paradoxical behaviour. Now, let's try again…"

The rest of the lesson passed with more weird activities of most of the students, but more than half of them were able to fight the spell, even if they could not keep up their resistance for more than a minute or so. When it was Harry's turn to be bewitched, however, he was able to shake off the spell within a few seconds, which earned Gryffindor an extra ten points.

"It's not such a big deal," he said to Ron and Hermione when they left the classroom. "Remember Moody and the Imperius curse last year? Now this one, whatever it was, was a lot less aggressive. I'm sure you'll learn to block it pretty soon."

"I wonder…" Hermione said thoughtfully.

"What?"

"That spell. She wouldn't tell us what it was, but I'm sure it reminds me of something…"

"Well, it doesn't matter, does it? She's not going to teach it to us, is she? Let's go, I'm hungry!"

A sudden inspiration hit her.

"Yes! How can I have been so blind! Remember the Quidditch World Cup?"

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Oh, Ron… Don't you remember doing something – erm – similar to what most of us did just now when she enchanted us? Crazy things to show off?"

"Of course! The veela!" Harry saw the parallels first. And he blushed when he remembered his own foolish behaviour. "But you can't – you aren't saying-,"

"I'm not saying anything, I'm just pointing out similarities… Of course she can't be… Or can she?"

A/N: Another little chapter before the Big Bang (or rather the opposite, as it will mean an end of things). The good thing about A/U is it need not bother about canon, so this tale will go on... I hope you'll find the time to review even if you're busy reading DH!


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N:** Well, after the desaster called DH, there is nothing like writing fanfic to take your mind off the unpleasant reality. So here is a new chapter I hope you'll like. Even if some of you may think quidditch a bit boring after the excitement of past event, I want to show how Fleur and everybody else return to normal again. and of course it's an important event for her. Moreover, you'll realise later that quidditch is more important than it seems at the moment.

**Chapter 42 Unusual Behaviour of a Snitch**

"You do realise that we play Slytherin next week, don't you?" Cho said to Fleur one morning at breakfast.

"How could I not? The way Roger keeps going on… It will be up to me, won't it? And it's not going to be simple…" Fleur said remembering how she had watched Harry play the first game this school year.

"Brute force, yes, that's their strength, but tactics… not much there, believe me."

"But their seeker – that Malfoy guy – is pretty good, I've seen him at practice. And he has a very good broom-"

"All of them have; his father bought them for all of the team; but most of them don't really know what they can do with them. And as for Malfoy – you've made a fool of him before, haven't you?"

"Indeed," Fleur grinned at the memory. "An additional reason for him to have it in for me, though, don't you think?"

* * *

Two days later, Michael Cornfoot, one of the Ravenclaw beaters, came down with an especially nasty bout of magical flu, and reluctantly Roger Davies decided to put Padma Patil on the team instead.

"Fantastic!" Padma screamed when Fleur told her the news. "At last! I was so hoping I'd get to play in earnest before the Gryffindor match! You won't regret it, I promise!"

"That's the spirit! Just hit those bludgers as hard as you can, and don't miss! It may help to think of Ron Weasley, too…"

"I'm sure it will!" Padma said grimly.

* * *

"There's something I have to tell you," Harry told Fleur after dinner on Friday evening.

"What is it? The way you look, it must be something bad…"

"Yes – me and my big mouth! I – I had a little – erm – disagreement with Snape today and –,"

"Lost some house points? So what's new? You keep doing that don't you?"

"If it was only that! No – he – he gave me detention and -,"

Fleur's face fell.

"And so you'll be in detention with Snape during the match tomorrow?"

"I'm afraid so. I – I tried to argue with him, but he wouldn't set another day."

"Of course not. He could see it bothered you a lot, so he enjoyed it even more, I'm sure."

"Naturally. So – I can't cheer you on… I'm sorry…"

"Don't worry, I'll be alright." She tried to sound more confident than she really felt; somehow the idea of Harry watching her play had strengthened her spirits a lot during the last couple of days. "I'm sure we can beat them."

Harry, of course, was not to be fooled.

"I'm sorry," he said again, and his sheepish expression caused Fleur to smile and kiss him in reassurance.

* * *

The Saturday of the match was a cold but bright and clear winter's day. Well equipped with her new Quidditch gloves that she had reinforced with a strong warming charm, Fleur set out for the pitch with her team-mates after lunch.

"Shut up, Roger," she said irritably, when he started into one of his lectures. "We know we can beat them, and we will, and that's it."

The stands around the pitch were already crowded, but even among the sea of spectators, it was impossible to miss the silver blonde mane of Isabeau Delacour. It gave Fleur's heart quite a jolt to see that her mother had indeed remembered her promise to Gabrielle and had turned up to watch her play, an idea that would have seemed preposterous only a few weeks ago.

In the times of the 'old mother', she would only have felt additional pressure knowing her mother was watching her, but now she felt strangely elated and more confident than she had ever been since Friday evening. Of course she could not rush over, much as she would have wanted to, but stopping for a moment she waved and was delighted to see Gabrielle waving back, hopping up and down next to her mother.

The ritual of shaking hands was familiar to Fleur by now, and she noticed in passing how Roger tried hard not to flinch when Urquhart, the Slytherin captain, was doing his best to break his fingers. The whistle went, and the players soared into the air.

Right away, she found herself closely tailed by Malfoy, who kept hovering next to her at arm's length.

"Oi, half-breed," he sneered at her. "Going to eat mud once more, are you?"

Fleur ignored him and urged her broom into a couple of loopings in the hope of shaking him off. But even though it took him a moment or two, he was by her side again fast enough.

"Needs more than that to get rid of Draco Malfoy," he said, but he sounded somewhat out of breath at least.

Seeing a slight widening of his eyes, Fleur reacted instinctively and swerved her broom aside in a sharp tug. Not a second too soon, either; the bludger that had come racing towards her from behind missed her head so narrowly that the air rushing past roared in her ears.

"Oops!" Malfoy said gleefully. "What a near miss! Well, you can't have everything, I guess…"

A roar from the crowds indicated the first goal, and to Fleur's dismay there was no doubt it had been scored by Slytherin.

"Well, my beauty," Draco drawled, "I'm afraid I must leave, I've got a snitch to catch, you now…"

Fleur was not sorry when he dived down towards the Slytherin hoops.

The game was moving fast, and it was not long before Cho scored a beautiful goal after elegantly foiling two bludgers that were threatening to crush her head between them. Also, it seemed that Padma was rising marvellously to the challenge of her first game; her well-aimed bludgers gave the Slytherin chasers quite a run for their money.

Suddenly Fleur saw the fluttering golden ball, a couple of feet below the centre Slytherin hoop. Without hesitation, she went into the steep dive that she had perfected with Harry's help and, flattening herself to the handle, raced downwards.

Of course there was no way Draco could miss her manoeuvre, and immediately he was racing towards the same point. But not only that, the two huge Slytherin beaters, as if following a plan, changed course and started to converge towards her at great speed. They might not have been the most elegant of flyers, but the speed of their brooms certainly was a match for Fleur's.

She realised at once what they were intending to do.

"_Non, mes garcons,_" she said to herself grimly, and when the two flyers were only an inch away from her right and left side and could not have changed their collision course any more, she slipped off her broom, holding on to the handle with both hands only.

With a sickening crunch, the two heavy figures crashed into each other, lost control of their brooms and tumbled down towards the ground.

Amid the roar of the audience, Fleur swung herself up onto the broom again, while below her Bole and Derrick picked themselves up slowly.

She looked around anxiously and was relieved to see the snitch had apparently disappeared before Draco had been able to catch it.

"Abominable and cowardly behaviour of the Slytherins," she heard Lee shout. "Sorry, Professor, - anybody could lose control of their brooms like that and almost squash an opponent, I'm sure – but foiled in a spectacular way by Fleur Delacour. Who'd have thought a stunning girl like that was also such an incredible flyer?"

For perhaps the first time, Fleur felt not annoyed by this comment on her physical appearance, but grinned to herself.

The game moved on and Fleur was pleased to see that her team mates were well up to the tricks and the brutality of their opponents. Bole and Derrick had returned into the game, but they were keeping a respectful distance from her now, even though they sent bludgers in her direction rather frequently, if to no avail.

"At least they leave our chasers alone," she smiled to herself, dodging another bludger with a careless flip of her broom, while below Edith Chambers scored another goal for Ravenclaw, setting the score to 50:50. The snitch, however, still refused to put in another appearance.

As the game wore on into the third hour, though, the Ravenclaw team began to show first signs of fatigue, thus allowing the Slytherins to put their superior physical strength to good use and score three goals in quick succession.

But the Ravenclaw team was not giving up.

"And that's Bradley with the quaffle," Lee was shouting. "Passing to Chang, she's passing it back – mind the bludger, Cho! – no, expertly deflected by Padma Patil – a great new talent, that girl – who'd have expected it of her? – quaffle passed back to Bradley – he's throwing at the goal – no, Jeff, that's not – what's that? A bludger from Patil – it hits the quaffle – redirects it - YES! It's in the centre hoop!! It's unbelievable! Never seen anything like that! That's going to get down in history!! Sixty to eighty!"

Fleur was distracted for a moment by this remarkable feat of Padma's, and it was with a shock that she suddenly noticed Draco Malfoy zooming purposefully towards the stands.

"No!" Forcing the broom to utmost speed she rushed after him, and indeed, she saw – or thought she saw – the golden glitter of the snitch fluttering not very high above the heads of the spectators.

In spite of all the warming spells and the Everclear glasses, the icy air clawed at her face bringing tears to her eyes. But she ignored the stinging pain and desperately willed her broom to go even faster.

The roars of the crowds only reached her as if from a very long distance, and the sea of upturned faces was blurred, as she slowly – painfully slowly – caught up with Malfoy.

Too late! He reached out for the golden ball, inches from his fingertips – she had not made it -

Suddenly the snitch jumped, or, rather, disappeared just to re-appear about a foot to his left.

Taken completely by surprise, and unable to change course or react in any other way, Malfoy continued on his trajectory for a yard or two, before he could turn round. But by that time Fleur, although equally flabbergasted by the snitch's strange behaviour, had made good use of her unexpected advantage and caught the struggling ball securely in her hand.

Only now did she realise that she had come to a halt just a couple of feet above her mother and Gabrielle, who were loking up at her. There was a huge smile on Isabeau's face, something Fleur had never seen before from her mother. Next to her, Gabrielle was jumping up and down, evidently screaming her head off, even if the general din from the audience made it impossible to hear her.

But she had no time to do or say anything at all; the Ravenclaw team were surrounding her, shouting and trying to hug her in mid-air. It was actually becoming quite dangerous, and it was only with difficulty that she could steer them all back to the safe ground of the pitch.

"We beat them, we beat them!" Cho chanted tearfully, her arms round Fleur and Padma as the team were finally on their way to the castle again, amidst the cheers and singing of their supporters.

"You were fantastic, Padma," she kept saying. "I've never seen a goal scored like that… And that close save," she went on to Fleur, "I'd never have thought you'd catch it yet. Absolutely amazing!"

"But – don't you think that snitch was acting strange? I mean – does a snitch normally do that? It was almost as if it was – Apparating… I know it sounds stupid, but…"

"Snitches do have their peculiar ways of behaving," Cho replied, not sounding too interested. "There's no way to predict when or where they might appear – or disappear, for that matter; that's why they are so difficult to catch… There are some people who say a snitch has a mind of its own, which is rubbish, if you ask me, but still…" She shrugged. "What does it matter, anyway? We've won! That's what counts, isn't it?"

* * *

When they entered the Great Hall and marched towards the Ravenclaw table, with a scream of delight Gabrielle came dashing towards Fleur out of nowhere, almost toppling her over as she flung herself into her sister's arms.

"You – were – marvellous," she panted, torn between sobs and laughter. "Oh, Fleur, I'm so happy to be with you again!"

Dinner was generally a noisy affair as everyone kept commenting on the game. Gabrielle, who had taken her place at the Ravenclaw table again, just like she had during the tournament, was bubbling with excitement; she described how she had almost suffocated from holding her breath during Fleur's acrobatics to escape from Bole and Derrick, and fell into one giggling fit after another remembering Malfoy's face when the snitch suddenly slipped out of his grasp.

Isabeau was sitting at the teachers' table, and Fleur could not help grinning to herself when she watched her polite and distant conversation with the Defence professor. Her mother and grandmother were really accomplished actresses.

In the middle of dinner, Harry came rushing into the hall; he immediately ran over to Fleur and plopped down on the bench next to her, panting.

"That bastard," he said after a quick kiss. "Wouldn't let me go until he was quite sure the game was over… So – you did it, I hear?"

"Yes, she did," piped up Gabrielle, eager to be noticed by her hero. "And I could see everything…"

And for the umpteenth time she plunged into her narrative of her big sister's victory.

"Strange," Harry said thoughtfully. "I've never heard of a snitch doing that sort of thing… but then, I guess there are loads of things I don't know about Quidditch yet. You've made Malfoy look an idiot, that's what counts, isn't it? So you're in the lead for the cup now, aren't you?"

"I think so; not that it matters, there are three more games coming and you are in two of them – so it's not much use talking of leads yet, is there? But I must say I loved Malfoys face…"

After dinner, Fleur and Gabrielle went over to Isabeau, who was waiting for them at the now empty teachers' table.

"I never knew you were so good," Isabeau said, hugging Fleur warmly. "I could not believe my eyes when you were dangling from that broomstick, while those thugs crashed into each other. How did you learn a thing like that?"

"But mama, isn't it obvious? Harry!"

"Ah yes, how silly of me… But still – he may have shown you the trick, but you have to do it yourself, don't you? Well, I still cannot understand what you see in this kind of sport, but nevertheless - I am very proud of you…"

It was the very first time that Fleur heard this kind of praise from her mother. There were tears in her eyes as she kissed her cheeks.

"Thank you – you don't know how much this means to me…"

"I do, cherie, I do… I know I haven't, and I can only ask you again to forgive me for it… But I will, I promise…"


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

Regretfully, Fleur said good-bye to her mother and sister on Sunday evening, and even more regretfully, she found herself sitting in her classes again on Monday, the first of which was Potions, moreover.

Ravenclaw's spectacular victory was, naturally, still the main topic of conversation. While Hufflepuffs frequently marched up to members of the Ravenclaw team to shake their hands and congratulate them, and Gryffindors would say things like "great game" with a big smile, the Slytherins kept muttering among themselves, shooting Fleur venomous glances whenever she passed.

When she distinctly heard a Slytherin girl say, "Filthy cheating half-breed," in the corridor, she grabbed her by the front of her robes and gave her a good shake.

"What?" she said in a furious whisper, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"Hexed – the – snitch," gasped the Slytherin, struggling to break free.

Shocked by the accusation, Fleur loosened her grip, which her opponent used to turn tail and dash off.

"Do they really say I did something to the snitch?" she asked Cho in the evening.

"Er – well – the Slytherins certainly do…"

"But I didn't!"

"Of course you didn't," her friend said soothingly. "Nobody ever heard of a thing like that! It would have been done before if it was at all possible, believe me, and there'd be records of it in _Quidditch Through the Ages_. It's just they can't lose, is all."

The image of her mother and sister looking up at her when she caught the snitch appeared to Fleur and an uncomfortable idea struck her.

"Are there any records of – Veela in Quidditch?"

"I don't believe so – not that I know of… Why are you asking?"

"Perhaps – perhaps Veela have some different powers…"

"So what if they have? You say you didn't do anything. And – you're not even a full Veela, anyway. Just let those gits shoot their mouths off for a couple of days, they'll forget about it soon enough."

"Thanks, Cho. It's good to see you trust me."

But Fleur was still wondering…

The rest of the week passed uneventfully, except for a fight between Harry and Draco Malfoy, who had been unwise enough to call Fleur a 'nasty cheating piece of dung' where Harry could hear it. Of course it earned him another detention with Snape, but he felt the sight of his opponent belching slugs for hours on end quite made up for it – to say nothing of Fleur's tokens of gratitude and admiration.

On Saturday morning, when her room mates had all left the dormitory, Fleur, using the _Virtualis _Charm, went to see her mother.

Isabeau, who had not experienced Fleur doing that charm before, was perfectly surprised and, like Gabrielle on the same occasion, tried to embrace her daughter and caused Fleur to giggle happily when her arms went straight through the projection.

"There is something I want to ask you, Mama," Fleur said presently, her voice serious again.

"Yes, cherie?"

"The snitch," Fleur began, suddenly feeling stupid and embarrassed, "I mean, you remember how it – sort of jumped suddenly? You didn't – er – _do_ anything?"

"_Do_?"

"Yes, - er – hexed it or something? People believe _I_ did," she finished, feeling herself blushing.

Her mother smiled.

"And what if I did?"

"You did? Really?" Fleur almost shouted. "That would be-,"

"Cheating, you mean?" Isabeau sounded amused. "Don't you think they deserved it, playing the way they did? No, don't answer. I still have a lot to learn, I can see that… But listen to me carefully: It's not that I didn't _try _to put some jinx on that snitch, believe me, I was so furious with that nasty trick they tried to play on you. But it wouldn't let me. I just could not get a grip on the thing. I'm by no means an expert on Quidditch, as you know, but that ball was very well protected against anybody interfering with it. No, cherie, much as I would have liked it, it was not me that made the thing jump like that. So your sense of fairness can rest assured and intact."

Curiously relieved, Fleur found Gabrielle and, after a short chat with her, returned back to her dormitory.

As Cho had predicted, the strange behaviour of the snitch soon receded to the back of everyone's memory, and after a week or so hardly anybody mentioned it any more, what with homework and lessons claiming the students' attention once again.

The next Quidditch match – Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff – was duly announced for the 18th of February, the weekend after Valentine's Day, as usual, and both teams started to step up their practising.

"We should be able to win that game easily enough," Harry told Fleur one afternoon when they were going for a stroll in the grounds. "It seems Ron is finally getting the hang of keeping. It's high time we do win, for a change, and of course we need to overtake Ravenclaw in the House Cup…"

"You wish!" Fleur laughed affectionately, giving him a quick kiss.

"Which reminds me," Harry said, slightly breathless, as the quick kiss had developed into something a bit more intricate, "Dumbledore has been considerate enough to set the Saturday before the match as a Hogsmeade day, and – er – we could go there together, couldn't we?"

_After all this time we've been together he still gets embarrassed with a question like this, _Fleur thought fondly.

"What do you think?" she answered with a huge smile.

"Where shall we go?" Harry inquired when they were queuing up at the front gates for Filch to enter their names in his list. It seemed that most of the Hogwarts population was keen on taking the opportunity of a Hogsmeade afternoon – and most of them were quite obviously aware of the date and intent on making good use of it.

"Er – Lavender said something about some place called Madam Puddifoot's," Ron said uncertainly. "It's supposed to be – er – rather romantic," he finished, turning crimson, but causing Hermione to squeeze his arm fondly.

"You wouldn't like it, believe me," Fleur told him. "I was there last year with Gabrielle, and it was awful… Pink all over, with enchanted cherubs and whatnot… Feels like inside a huge iced cake, makes you afraid you could get stuck in all the sugar…"

"I know the sort of place," Hermione shuddered. "My parents took me to one like that for my tenth birthday… thought they were giving me a treat… AND I had to pretend I liked it, not to hurt their feelings… No, definitely not." And seeing Ron's disappointed expression, she added, "It's not that I don't appreciate your consideration, but – no pink place for me!"

During this exchange, they were approaching the place where the carriages were waiting, and both Fleur and Harry stopped dead in their tracks.

"What – "

"- is that?" Harry finished her sentence.

"What are you talking about?"

"Those horse-things, Ron!"

"What horse things? It's just the carriages, like always!"

"But Hermione, are you telling me you can't see them?"

"See what, Harry?"

"The Thestrals," Luna said cheerfully; like she frequently did, she had come up to them without being noticed, carrying a stack of sandwiches. "You didn't think those carriages ran by themselves, did you?" she went on looking at them innocently.

"Thestrals? But – but they are a myth!" Hermione said, a hysterical tone in her voice. "Like – like Snorkacks… You're having me on, aren't you?" she turned to Harry and Fleur, sounding desperately hopeful.

"Thestrals?" Fleur asked Luna, ignoring Hermione.

"You can only see them if you have seen death," Luna explained matter-of-factly.

"Death? Who – Yes! Wormtail!"

"Will someone tell me already what you are all talking about?" Ron inquired impatiently.

"Thestrals, Ron," Hermione, evidently glad to go into lecturing mode, began, "as I have read in – "

"Hogwarts, a History," Harry and Ron chorused, grinning.

"As I have read, are _mythical_ creatures." She put heavy stress on the word mythical. "They are supposed to look like – "

"Black winged horses," Fleur cut in, looking at the carriage in front of her, "but with a reptilian looking head, glassy eyes and overall rather skeletal. Yes, that's exactly what I can see…"

For once, Hermione could not think of anything to say. She just stared at Fleur wide-eyed.

"Some people think they look sinister, - " Luna chimed in.

"You can say that again," Harry muttered, looking at the strange creatures in shivering fascination.

" - but they are quite gentle, really," Luna went on, ignoring his comment, and extended a sandwich.

"Wow!" Ron said in awe as, to his eyes, the sandwich disappeared into thin air with a slurping sound. "I never - !"

"See?" Luna continued dreamily, patting the creature's neck affectionately. "They like attention. It must be hard, being invisible to most people, don't you think?"

"So that's what you were doing," Fleur said, "When we saw you the other day…"

"But – but how come you can see them?" Ron, who had found coherent speech again, asked.

"Ron!" Hermione whispered.

"Oh, it's all right," Luna said serenely. "I was there, you see…"

"Where?"

"When my mother died, Ronald …"

Ron went pale and his eyes wide.

"And that's why I can see them," Luna's voice was calm and even. "When you have seen somebody die, you see… That's what's giving them such a bad reputation, poor things…"

And she patted the creature's neck again.

By now, it seemed that even Hermione had no choice but to acknowledge the existence of something she had hitherto believed to be an invention of hyper-imaginative minds. At any rate, she did not say anything and just eyed the – to her eyes – horseless carriage with an uncomfortable expression.

In the meantime, Luna had got rid of her sandwiches and Ron's eyes had constantly become bigger with each disappearing piece.

"But I'm not going to sit in a carriage drawn by invisible things," Hermione said at last. "Let's walk!"

"You are being unreasonable," Harry told her with a smile. "And I'd never have expected to say that to Hermione Granger; but it's a nice sunny day, so we might just as well… Are you coming, too, Luna?"

But Luna just smiled and shook her head, wiped her hands in her handkerchief and ambled back to the castle.

The village was swarming with Hogwarts students, most of them in pairs, intent on making good use of the pre-Valentine occasion.

"It's probably just as well we decided not to go to that pink what's-its-name," Harry said with a grin. "I suppose it will be packed, anyway."

"So let's go to Honeydukes," Ron urged them, earning a reproachful glance from Hermione. But before she could put her disapproval of this abetment of tooth decay into words, the crowds in the street parted and, barking loudly, the familiar shape of a large black dog came bounding towards them.

"Si – Snuffles!" Harry cried delightedly, correcting himself after a shove from Hermione. The dog put his forepaws on his shoulders and quickly gave his face a wet lick, before Harry had time to turn his head away.

"Aww!" he gasped while everybody was laughing. "Bad dog!"

"What's the matter Snuffles?" Hermione asked, and some passing students turned, surprised to see her talking to a dog.

With another loud bark, Sirius turned and ran a short distance, turning back towards them and barking again. He could not have made it clearer that they were to follow him if he had used words.

They followed the black dog and were soon well outside the village, walking along a narrow footpath towards the mountain range that loomed ahead. When it was quite sure that nobody was watching any more, Sirius finally turned back into his human form. He looked somewhat the worse for wear, his face haggard and und his head unkempt; his eyes, however, were burning with a dark fire that caused Fleur to shiver.

"Come with me," he said hoarsely before anybody could say anything. "There is something I want to show you."

And ignoring all questions he strode ahead in long strides so that they had no choice but follow him at a breathtaking pace.

Being the one without Quidditch training, Hermione was first to tire, and so Sirius had no choice but to slow down.

"Where are you taking us, anyway?" Hermione panted when she had found some of her breath again. "And what's the hurry? Can't we Apparate, or something?"

"I'm sorry about that," Sirius said, looking somewhat sheepish. "But it does get dark pretty soon this time of the year… And no, unfortunately Apparating is not option. But we're almost there…"

"The cave!" Ron exclaimed. "Where you were hiding!"

And indeed, there was a large dark opening in the rockface ahead of them.

Sirius waved his wand in some complicated patterns muttering a spell, before moving forward.

"Anti-Apparition wards," he explained. "Now come along. No, it's quite safe," he added, seeing Harry's doubtful expression. "I made sure of that before leaving. Lumos."

A number of candles sprang to life and revealed a spacious cave. In the back of the cave, there was something like an improvised living room with a table, a few chairs and a shabby old sofa. A black tunnel branched off on the left side.

"So this is your old cave, we can see that," Hermione, still a bit out of breath, said sounding slightly exasperated. "What's the matter with it?"

"Well, I'm not sure…" Fleur had heard that tone of voice from students that had been reprimanded by Professor McGonagall and could not help smiling. "It may not even be anything at all… but I thought you should see it. You never know, do you?"

"What IS it?"

"Er – just come along, will you?"

Taking a lit candlestick from the table he led them into the tunnel.

"I hate dark and narrow places," Fleur muttered and grabbed Harry's hand.

"And here I was already wondering if there was ANYthing you might be afraid of ," Harry smiled, but he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

After a few yards, Sirius stopped and stood aside. They were standing in front of a rock wall, the tunnel obviously ended here.

"Look," he said, raising the candlestick. "I only found this about a week ago, which is strange, to put it mildly, as I have used this cave as a hiding place since last year. I've spent days and weeks in here and you'd expect I'd have seen it before... Well, perhaps I've never looked into this dead-end tunnel carefully enough, there's nothing there, after all, but still… What do you make of it?"

"It's – like a door," Harry said hesitantly. "Or a frame or something …" Indeed, a smooth rectangle the height of a man was clearly discernible with a band of ornaments some three or four inches wide around it. He touched the wall. It certainly was solid rock.

"And I do believe…" Hermione leaned closer. "Yes, it does look like writing!"

"That's why I brought you here," Sirius said sounding relieved that Hermione seemed interested. "I thought what with you being the brightest witch of the times, you might find out what it means? I was never any good with Ancient Runes, you know."

"But it's not like any runes I have ever seen before," Hermione said, suddenly doubtful. "It IS writing, isn't it?" she asked turning to Fleur. You have been doing Ancient Runes two years longer; have you ever come across anything like that?"

Fleur stepped nearer to examine the marks on the rock surface. The strange pattern was a colour somewhere between dark red and brown, uncomfortably reminiscent of dried blood. Something about the signs seemed familiar.

"Yes," she said slowly. "I'm sure it is writing. And I believe I have seen something like it…" Suddenly she remembered the dagger her father had found in Tibet. The ornaments and gravures on the hilt and blade were very similar to the designs on the rock wall in front of her.

"You may not believe me," she said to Hermione, "I remember you have certain reservations about so-called myths, - but these signs seem to be Atlantean…"

Hermione immediately bristled at hearing the name, but before she could say anything, Harry spoke up.

"I do think you are right, Fleur; that dagger…" and he proceeded to tell the others everything about it.

"Well, if Dumbledore himself believes in Atlantis," Hermione said, somewhat reluctantly, "Who am I to say otherwise? But – do you think there's anybody who can actually READ that? IF it's writing," she added, sounding a bit sulky.

Fleur had a good idea that her grandmother would probably be able to find out something about these runes, but she did not wish to give away her incognito, so she said,

"Why don't we copy it all, to begin with? Then we can always try to find out more in the library, or ask some of the professors. What's that copying spell?"

So Hermione, after conjuring a piece of parchment produced a copy of the design, which she then shrunk and stowed away in her pocket.

After that, they left the cave and, accompanied by Sirius in his dog form again, made their way back to the village. Droves of students were already on their way towards the carriages.

"We've just got the time for a quick butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks," Harry said after they had said good-bye to Sirius at the beginning of the High Street, "Before we have to get back to the castle."

"Bother," muttered Ron, "And I so wanted to get to Honeydukes…"

"But a VERY different Valentine's Day," Hermione grinned. "And MUCH better than any pink plushy place could ever have been…"

A/N: Again, I'm sorry for the long delay, but that's the way things are sometimes, what with computer breakdowns, a truant muse and a thing called real life… A new mystery now and I hope you like it. I'm amazed myself at the turn things are taking. I do hope you'll bear with me in spite of the long intervals.

Moreover, let me say that I appreciate all those notes that you have picked my humble effort for your favourite story, but if you dropped actual REVIEWS, it would motivate me a lot more (hint, hint).


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44 Special Classes**

A/N: This is actually an editing of the original chapter 44. Thanks to **rejeimha** for pointing out a major blunder. What can I say? Thank you all for your patience, I really appreciate it that you can still put up with my more than erratic updating. I can only promise to do as best as I can.

Oh, and before I forget - I don't own these characters. Otherwise the Dreadful Humbug would never have been written...

On Monday, right after the lesson, Fleur went up to Professor Woods to show her the copy of the strange signs they had found in Sirius' cave.

"What do you make of it?"

Vivienne looked at the parchment carefully.

"I'm not sure," she said slowly. "It does look Atlantean…"

"Can you read it, grandma?"

"I'm afraid I can't; but there's no harm in asking Professor Babbling, is there?"

"But isn't she sure to ask questions? And Sirius is still a wanted criminal; I don't think it's a good idea."

"Good thinking. Well, Albus might know what to do about it… Just leave it here and I'll ask him this evening."

In a similar way, Hermione approached the Ancient Runes professor.

"Excuse me, professor, can you tell me where I might find something about Atlantean runes?"

The professor looked up from her notes.

"Atlantean?" she inquired, surprised. "How-,"

"I found this reference the other day," Hermione, who had been prepared for this question, replied smugly, "Where it says that paleo-elvish runes are supposed to be derived from an older source going back to the Atlantean era. Now, I'm not sure what to believe… Is there really some evidence of Atlantean writing? Most authors seem to think it's just a myth…"

Actually, she had just made up this explanation, but the professor, used to her best student's voracious reading, did not question it. One simply could not keep track of all the books there were, and if Hermione Granger mentioned reading something, you might just as well take it for granted.

"You might try Ogden Ogham's _Alphabet Etymology," _she said therefore. "It's supposed to be a fundamental work on the origin of writing… And if you cannot find anything there – this question IS pretty dubious, you know – it may give you cross-references for further research."

"Thank you, professor," Hermione said politely and dashed off to the library.

Unlike the girls, Harry and Ron were more concerned with the upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, and, what with homework and practice, did not give the matter much thought.

"We can and we will beat them," Harry would tell Ron at least five times a day. And indeed, Ron's keeping techniques, together with his reaction speed and catching skills, had been steadily improving since their last game; naturally, this gave his self-confidence the necessary boost, so that, in turn, his skills were further reinforced; and when, two days before the game, Fleur watched the Gryffindor team practising, she was inclined to agree with Harry.

"There should be no problem as far as the keeping part is concerned," she said to the boys. "But of course you never know about the snitch…"

"You'll come and watch, will you? It makes me feel so much better…"

"Of course, Harry. Not that you need any assistance, but it's always a pleasure to see you flying."

After the Defence lesson on Friday afternoon, however, Fleur found a note on her desk:

_Professor Woods requests your presence in her office tomorrow at three o'clock._

"But – it's the game! I can't - ,"

She stopped abruptly, seeing Lyra looking at another slip of parchment.

"Have you got one, too?" Lyra asked, puzzled.

"What? Let me see…"

Indeed, the text was exactly the same, as was the parchment itself.

"What can that be about?"

"I don't know, and I don't care," Fleur said heatedly. "There's the Quidditch game and I have to - ,"

"I don't think you can ignore a professor's request just like that," Lyra told her. "Besides, I expect Harry will be perfectly capable of whatever it is you Quidditch freaks do," she added with a smile, "even without your moral support. Moreover, wouldn't you like to know…?"

And Fleur had to admit that she was certainly curious.

When Padma Patil came over to her at dinner with another identical piece of parchment, her curiosity rose even more, and so it was not with too much regret that she told Harry she would not be able to be present at the game.

If he was disappointed, he did not show it, at any rate.

"Perhaps it's all for the best," he said with a grin. "We might not be able to control our mental link in a stressful situation, and we both know we can't have that in a game against Hufflepuff…"

And Fleur, remembering how she had alerted Harry to catch the snitch in the Slytherin game in autumn, agreed.

Much as she would have loved to talk to her grandmother in private, it was clearly impossible; with Padma and Lyra summoned to the professor's office together with her, she could hardly go there on her own without some questions being asked. Therefore, together with the other two Ravenclaws, she found herself knocking on the door at three o'clock sharp, torn between regret – mixed with a certain amount of anger - at not being able to watch Harry play and curiosity about Vivienne's plans.

The door opened by itself, and they entered the cosy looking sitting-room office that Fleur was already familiar with. To their surprise, there were already three Hufflepuff and three Gryffindor girls present, standing about rather awkwardly. Among them, Fleur recognised Claudine Pentecost, a Hufflepuff she knew from their Herbology classes, as well as a black Gryffindor girl whose name she could not at the moment remember, but whom she knew to be the sister of Lee Jordan, the Quidditch commentator. Most of them must be sixth or seventh year, but she seemed to remember seeing one of the Hufflepuffs and one Gryffindor girl together with Padma in a class. The third Gryffindor, a very pretty girl with long dark hair, - but who, in Fleur's opinion, was wearing way too much make-up, - seemed to be the youngest.

"Good afternoon, ladies," the professor greeted them amiably. "I'm so glad you could come. I expect you will all be curious about my invitation, but I must beg you to be patient until everybody has arrived."

"Slytherins?" Lyra wondered in a very audible whisper.

"Very good, Miss Parry," the professor, who had heard her perfectly well, said cheerfully. "You should not believe - ,"

There was a knock and she broke off, gesturing for the door to open to admit, to nobody's surprise, three Slytherin girls; one of them was Daphne Greengrass, one of Fleur's classmates from Ancient Runes, while Carmilla daSilva was one of Snape's favourites in Potions. The third, a rather waif-like extremely pale girl with long silvery hair not unlike her own, was unknown to Fleur.

"Now that our little group is complete," the professor said, breaching the awkward silence, "Why don't we all sit down?"

With a wave of her wand she arranged a number of comfortable armchairs in a semi circle, motioning for the students to take seats. Another wave conjured a row of glasses of pumpkin juice.

"Perfect," Professor Woods said, sitting down. "Now, without further ado, here is the reason for this meeting: I have been watching the students of this school for several months now, and even if some of you are not in my own classes, other teachers have been helping me in this task. After careful deliberation and a lengthy discussion with the headmaster, I have chosen you because I believe you to have the talent for this special project I am planning. First, though, there is one point I want to make very clear: If you choose to take part, you will have to keep everything completely secret, and will indeed have to submit to a charm preventing you to speak about it to anybody. If, on the other hand, you prefer not to participate, - which you are perfectly free to do, of course, - I will have to erase this specific memory from your mind.

Now the project itself is this: You have all – or perhaps most of you have – learned about various forms of the Confundus charm. What you probably don't know, though, is that there are certain related magical skills that can only be performed by witches…"

She paused and looked directly at Fleur, who was sure she saw a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"By a lucky chance, at least one member of our little group should know about the kind of magic I mean…"

Fleur blushed and was not sure herself whether with embarrassment or anger.

"Erm – the Veela charm?" she managed to say.

"Very good." The professor nodded. "Only it should be charms; there is not only one."

"You – you mean to teach us the Veela charm? But isn't it – I mean, aren't only Veela…"

"Of course, Miss Greengrass, THE Veela Charm is only an ability of true Veela. I certainly could not teach you to turn into birds, for example, but as I have said before there are certain related skills witches that possess the talent can learn. In fact, with these skills, it is talent that counts; without it all the studying of a lifetime would be no use. But to answer your question, - yes, I intend to teach you a few of these skills, for instance…"

"Bewitching boys!" the young heavily made-up Gryffindor girl giggled.

"I would not put it so bluntly myself, Miss Vane," the professor said trying to sound stern, but not entirely succeeding. "But basically, yes, this is one of the things I propose to teach you…"

"But, professor isn't that illegal?"

"Worse than that, Miss Pentecost, using it for personal selfish reasons is immoral."

"Wouldn't bother some people, immoral," Lee Jordan's sister muttered, giving the Slytherins a dirty look and causing Daphne to flare up angrily.

"I'll show you immoral!" she growled, already halfway out of her chair, ready to rush at the Gryffindor.

With a lazy flick of her Wand, professor Woods Impedimenta'ed Daphne.

"Ladies," she said slowly, "Please compose yourselves. If you cannot stay in the same room together for more than a few minutes without getting at each other's throats, I suggest you leave right away. It will save those willing to learn a lot of time and trouble."

"Sorry," the two girls said sounding embarrassed and Daphne sat down again, still glowering at the Gryffindors.

"That's better," the professor said calmly. "Now of course I am not fool enough to believe that I can just trust each of you to use the abilities you will learn in sensible ways only. You may get annoyed at somebody, or your emotions may get the better of you in various other ways," - here she looked at the young Gryffindor, - "and therefore there will be certain safeguards to make sure of that."

"What safeguards?"

"I'm not telling you, Miss Abbott; but I can assure you that I have a reputation of being quite creative…"

Fleur, who had become increasingly annoyed during this conversation, raised her hand.

"Professor," she said, trying hard to suppress her irritation. "These – er – skills, they work only on – er – targets that are susceptible, don't they?"

"Meaning the opposite sex, in most cases," the professor nodded. "And I suppose what you are trying to get at is – how can I teach you this sort of thing if there is no way to practise it in this group and you won't be allowed to use what you learn outside? A nasty little problem indeed, but I think I have found a solution, at least as long as you are still learning the basics. Later on, we'll see… But now to business!"

At a swish of her wand, a picture in a gilded frame materialised in front of the girls. It was the portrait of a young wizard in slightly old-fashioned Gryffindor robes, with long auburn hair and bright blue eyes that looked familiar to Fleur, but without her being able to remember where she might have seen them.

"Wow, doesn't he look cute, Jackie?" the heavily made-up young Gryffindor remarked enthusiastically in a rather loud whisper to her black house-mate.

"Shut up, Romilda, you're impossible," the other said, clearly.

The professor seemed about to say something, but the portrait chuckled good-humouredly.

"Oh, I've always appreciated an honest opinion, and a flattering one at that; and I might even repay the compliment if I could only see more clearly through all these layers of paint…"

Romilda's deep blush even penetrated said layers, while the other girls giggled appreciatively. Obviously, there were no members of the Romilda Vane fan club present.

"Let me introduce you to – well, let's call him Mr. A.," the professor said, "Who has kindly agreed to assist us as an experimental target."

"Good afternoon, ladies," the portrait said with a polite bow. "I am happy to assist your worthy professor in her ambitious task. I hope you will enjoy these lessons as much as I doubtlessly will," he finished with a huge grin. "And – just call me Al, if you want to address me. Mr. A. sounds so terribly formal, doesn't it? Now, why don't we proceed?"

"Indeed," the professor said, "There is no reason we should not, and it's getting late anyway. Now, while at the end of this course you will, hopefully, be able to cast the spell without resorting to a wand or an incantation, at the beginning you will need both to concentrate and direct your power. So, watch this…"

She stood in front of the portrait, pointed her wand straight at the young wizard's head and exclaimed, "_Arma mulieris_!"

Immediately her target's eyes turned blank and Al assumed a rigid posture.

"You see," the professor turned to her students, "this is the first stage. Of course, normally you would not say the spell out loud, and much less require a wand, and of course you would not keep your target in this state for any length of time, but proceed immediately. For example with the following: _Ostenta!"_

A shudder went through the wizard's body and he began to strut importantly up and down in his painting, trying to look important and clever, but looking all the more silly for trying so hard. The girls giggled.

The professor ended the spell.

"How was I doing?" the young wizard inquired. "Did I make a great fool of myself?"

"That you did indeed," the professor said with a smile.

"But you were really sweet!" Romilda squealed delightedly, again blushing under her heavy make-up.

"I'm delighted to hear it," the object of her admiration replied in a tone so indulgent everybody except the young Gryffindor could not help grinning. "Always happy to be of service."

"There are of course other commanding spells," the professor continued when the general mirth had died down. "However, you will find the basics hard enough to grasp, so we will leave it at that for the next few weeks. Now, all of you just try the first part, and try to do it without any wand movement and without spoken words, if you can. Miss Delacour, if you would be so kind to make a start…"

Perhaps Fleur was only imagining it, but she thought there was a distinct teasing tone in her grandmother's voice.

Inwardly seething and feeling utterly ridiculous, she stepped in front of the painting and concentrated. Even before she had silently spoken the words, the young wizard went through the motions she had witnessed during the professor's demonstration, and when she imagined her target performing somersaults and blowing kisses to the spectators, he immediately complied with her mental image.

"Enough!" the professor exclaimed, breaking the spell. "Well done indeed, even if you need to learn to tame down your imagination. I always expected there would be something in your heritage… Miss Parry, you're next…"

And while Lyra was taking her place, Fleur stepped aside, vowing to give her grandmother a piece of her mind as soon as she would get the chance.

Lyra's efforts were received with approval by the professor ("You have an unusual lot of talent."), and those of Daphne, Hannah, Padma, Claudine and the third Hufflepuff girl, Constance Darcy, were, if not altogether satisfactory, acceptable.

"It would have been extremely unlikely for all of you to perform the spell perfectly at the first go," the professor told a frustrated Padma. "But I have chosen you for a reason, and your gift is most certainly there."

Carmilla daSilva was next. She managed the first stage of the spell well enough – the young wizard's eyes went blank and his posture rigid, - but when it came to the second part, his behaviour changed dramatically: Baring his teeth in something like a snarl, he began to move his arms up and down rapidly, causing his robes to billow out like enormous wings.

Carmilla broke the spell hastily, and a look of horror appeared in her pale face.

"I – I didn't …" she stammered.

"Now, don't panic," the professor said soothingly. "You did excellently at first go; you just have to learn to control your mental images better."

"What in Morgaine's name was that?" Lyra whispered, but Fleur, equally mystified, could only shrug. However, before she could give the incident any more thought, the third Slytherin girl stepped in front of the portrait.

"Well, Miss O'Malley," the professor said. "You are next. Stay calm and don't overdo things."

Again, the young wizard's posture went rigid under the spell; this time, however, he started plugging an imaginary musical instrument and began a high-pitched wailing song that had everybody's hair stand on end.

"Stop it, Siobhan!" Daphne Greengrass screamed, covering her ears with her hands.

When the wailing had stopped and Siobhan, looking embarrassed, stepped aside, the wizard shook himself.

"A bit tough, I must say, my dear madam," he said to the professor. "But another extremely interesting choice of yours… Who would have thought it?"

"Thought what?" Fleur mouthed, but now it was Lyra's turn to shrug.

"I am glad you think so," the professor replied smugly, without the slightest attempt to clarify Fleur's question. "But I believe the noble house of Gryffindor would like to have a go now…"

Jackie stepped forward and easily enough made her target go through the motions of a Quidditch manoeuvre, which, lacking a broom, looked quite ridiculous and caused everybody to laugh, thus dispelling the awkward mood that had developed.

"Now, Miss Brown …"

But, strangely enough, as hard as Lavender tried, the painting did not show any reaction. Frustrated, she threw down her wand.

"I can't do it!" she groaned.

"I'm awfully sorry, my dear young lady," the young wizard said apologetically. "It really does not work at all, not even VERY slightly. I could have pretended, of course, but what would be the use?"

"Strange indeed," the professor mused. "I cannot imagine I could have been so wrong… Well, I'll have to think about it later. Last one now, Miss Vane, if you please!"

All the girls found Romilda's exaggerated stance and flourishing wandwork amusing and were, therefore, particularly surprised that the painting immediately showed the typical reactions to the spell. The young wizard went down on one knee, pressing his hands to his heart and started declaiming,

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day…"

"Thank you, my good sir," Romilda said after he had finished the poem, ending the spell with another grand movement of her wand, and looking around her quite satisfied with herself.

"I really have to congratulate you, my dear," the wizard said with a grin. "That was quite remarkable for one so young. And – I'd never have expected this poem, too…"

Fleur could only silently agree; Romilda Vane most certainly did not look the sort of person to be familiar with a poem like that.

"Well, ladies," the professor said, "This has really been a most fruitful afternoon. Next time you will practise the spell with reduced wand use. Difficult, I'll admit, but not too much so, judging from your performance today. As for you, Miss Brown – I'll think it over and let you know if I have any ideas. Before you go, though, I have to make sure you will not give away our little secret, so…" - she performed several elaborate wand movements – "This will make sure you will not be able to talk about today's events to anybody outside this group. And likewise, it will make it impossible for you to practise your skills unauthorised…"

Here she looked hard at Romilda.

"Class dismissed," she said finally. "I'm sure you won't want to miss your dinner after a stressful afternoon. Ah, and – Miss Delacour, a word with you, if you please…"

Fleur, who had been bursting to give her grandmother a piece of her mind, was only too happy to have an excuse for staying behind, and as soon as the last of the girls had closed the door behind her, she began,

"What on earth are you playing at? What's the big idea teaching all these girls the veela charms?"

"There's really no need to get all excited, ma chere," Vivienne said with a smile. "I think I know perfectly well what I am doing, and so, by the way, does Albus. He has always believed in developing everybody's special gifts and talents to the maximum. In fact, it's just been for lack of a qualified teacher this special field of magic has not been taught at Hogwarts before. So he was only too happy to have found such a teacher at last."

"But – isn't it illegal?" Fleur asked. "You said so yourself, didn't you?"  
"It is, indeed," Vivienne replied smugly. "With a narrow-minded bunch of politicians in charge like we have them at the moment – and France or England don't make much of a difference – we have to tread carefully. Even with dear Dolores taken care of, there is no way Fudge would put up with it. That's why I have taken all those precautions. And if you remember that part of what I said, you will also remember me saying that you simply cannot teach humans the Veela Charm. What we are doing here is an extremely softened down variant of Confundus, nothing more. It's different for people with a veela heritage, of course…" she finished with a grin.

"But – but are you sure it can stay a secret? I mean – you are planning to have these classes rather regularly. And – don't you think someone might guess about your true identity?"

"Well, those spells are pretty strong; moreover, I have a feeling none of those girls would be too eager to tell anybody, even if they could. They feel very special to have been chosen, and are scared of competition. The only problem that might arise is that one might – if she develops a very strong feeling for someone – could try to use the charm on him. Emotions are always a very powerful factor where magic of this kind is concerned. But even that is not too much of a danger; the charm would be rather weak and short lived, so there wouldn't be any harm done."

"But – why?"

"It's a very powerful branch of magic if used wisely, and may come in extremely useful in the difficult times we are facing. And it is certainly something the average death eater will not be prepared for… It's only a pity that it depends on natural talent so much, so that it cannot be taught all the girls here. As I said, I have watched the students here for five months, and the twelve of you are all that I have found. Unfortunately, this is not something you can pick up from books."

Fleur thought of Hermione and grinned.


	45. Chapter 45

A/N: I know, I know... Just enjoy!

**Chapter 45: A secret revealed and a new mystery found**

When Fleur entered the Great Hall, most of the students were already gathered for dinner, and it did not need a lot of observation to notice the exuberant mood at the Hufflepuff table, while the atmosphere at that of the Gryffindors was more than just a little subdued.

"Don't say anything," Harry said when she went over to him. "You can imagine what happened…"

"But it's not been Ron's fault, this time!" Hermione said grimly. "He really had a few spectacular saves…"

"Ninety to twenty we were in the lead," Ron grumbled, surfacing from his plate of steak and kidney pie. "And then that guy Summerby must go and catch the bloody snitch! Life is so unfair…" Again he turned his attention to the food on his plate, and Hermione, for once, did not say anything about his table manners, even if her eyebrows went up a good deal.

"At least he's not taking it personally, as you can see," Harry said with a wry smile. "His appetite does not seem to have suffered, that's something…"

After a short pause he went on,

"What was all that about Woods and everything?"

"She – erm – it's – she wants it to be a secret," Fleur stammered, feeling the blush rising in her face. "I can't talk about it, I'm sorry. She put a spell on us…"

"Us?" Hermione inquired.

"Well, yes, erm –," She found her voice faltering and shook her head helplessly. "The spell," she managed to croak.

"I see," Hermione, now sounding very alert and interested, said. "Let's try a different approach. So, there were some other students there with you?"

"Yes."

"How many of you?"

Fleur shook her head.

"Was it only Ravenclaws?"

"No."

"All the other houses, too?"

"Yes."

"More than – er – three from each house?"

"No."

"Give it a break, Hermione," Ron mumbled between mouthfuls. "What is this? Twenty questions?"

"Just go on eating, there's a good boy," Hermione retorted irritably. And to Harry and Fleur she continued, "A simple secrecy spell, obviously. You can answer relevant questions with yes or no only. It will take some time this way, but I am pretty certain I'll find out everything sooner or later. It's just a matter of thinking up the right questions… So, let's see… Three from each house?"

"Yes."

"Girls only?"

"Yes."

"All seventh years?"

"No."

"Interesting. Well… I suppose it wasn't just a tea party with scones and small talk. So, what would a teacher ask twelve girls from different houses _and_ different years to her office for? Was it -,"

"But, Hermione," Harry interfered, "What if Fleur doesn't _want_ to tell us? I mean – it sounds like you promised not to talk about that secret whatever-it-is…"

Fleur, who had been wondering about pretty much the same thing, smiled at him gratefully. "I'm not sure myself," she said doubtfully. But then a reckless rebellious feeling came over her, as she remembered how her grandmother had practically tricked her into everything and she said,

"But I did not ask to be involved in the matter, and I don't think I have to follow her orders. Moreover, you are my best friends here, so if anybody deserves to know, it's you. So, go on with your questions."

"So – where were we? Teacher – students… Did she – teach you something?"

"Yes!"

"Something that can only be learned by girls?"

"Naturally."

Hermione shot a triumphant glance at Ron, who in the meantime had stopped eating and was following the conversation with big eyes.

"A narrow selection like that and from different years… and the secrecy… it cannot have been about – er – sex-education, can it?"

"Of course not!" Fleur said vehemently, angry at feeling the colour rising in her cheeks.

"Some sort of spell, most likely?"

"Yes."

"We are closing in, aren't we? So the only thing left to find out is the spell itself. But – I don't think you will actually have to give that away yourself; there's no knowing what might happen if you actually do... A short trip to the library should do the trick. And will probably take less time, too."

Fleur, who had indeed been getting nervous in spite of herself, felt relieved.

"Thanks; it's probably better this way. Then she can't really blame me, can she?"

"Certainly not," Harry said reassuringly. "Besides, how is she ever to find out?" he finished with a grin.

It was, nevertheless, with mixed feelings that Fleur obeyed when Professor Woods asked her to stay behind after the lesson on Monday "to have a word."

"Now, _ma chere,_" Vivienne said. "Your friends, do you think they know something?"

"Well," Fleur replied hesitantly, "I don't think they do, at least at the moment, but – well, Hermione is definitely on the right track, and she should have no problem finding out the rest pretty soon. An afternoon in the library should be quite enough… And knowing her, once she knows about the spell, it'll take her no time at all to guess the rest."

She looked at her grandmother anxiously.

"And high time, too," Vivienne smiled. "All that traipsing around was getting on my nerves. Back home I almost gave myself away a couple of times…"

"So you are not angry?" Fleur said, relieved.

"Of course not. Don't you think I could have found ways to make completely certain they wouldn't find out? The only thing is that they should not make it publicly known…"

"I'm sure I can trust them – though, perhaps, Ron…"

"You never know when he's going to shoot off his big mouth, do you? Well, I'll take care of that in his next lesson and make sure he doesn't blab. And I suppose it will be a relief for you, too, not having any secrets from Harry, I mean."

And Fleur, who had felt exactly like that, hugged her grandmother happily.

"And as we can lift this one secret," Vivienne went on, "There's also no reason why we should not tackle the question of the runes you found in that cave together. So we'll all meet up in Albus' office this evening and talk everything over. And we can take care of Mr Weasley's tendencies to blurt out anything that comes to his mind…"

Thus, after dinner, the four of them found themselves in front of the headmaster's office, facing the gargoyles.

"What can he possibly want us for?" Hermione was asking for the fourth or fifth time. Fleur had not bothered telling the others about her conversation with her grandmother, and secretly enjoyed her uneasiness – somehow she still was not entirely comfortable in the clever witch's company.

"Ice cream sundae," Fleur said to the gargoyles, who obediently stepped aside releasing the moving spiral stairs that led to Dumbledore's rooms. "Let's go," she said with a smile, ignoring the others' surprised expressions. She did not think it was necessary to tell them that she had got the password from their Defence professor.

The door at the top of the staircase opened noiselessly. Somewhat in spite of herself, Fleur was rather impressed at the variety of magical objects and instruments on display in glass cases and on shelves. But most of all, she felt drawn towards the phoenix that was perched on his stand next to the huge dark desk.

Besides Dumbledore, professors Woods and McGonagall were also present.

"Welcome, my dear young friends," Dumbledore greeted them amiably. "It's good of you to spare some of your valuable time for an old man…"

None of the four said anything in response to this understatement.

"Won't you take a seat?" the headmaster continued, indicating a number of large comfortable armchairs that had materialised out of nowhere.

"You will be wondering why I have asked you to this little gathering," he said after they had all sat down, in the case of Ron and Hermione a bit awkwardly. "The thing is that recent developments make it seem advisable to pass some information on to you. I don't want to repeat a mistake that I have been making before, when I kept some facts from you, Harry, believing you were too young and vulnerable to bear them, for which I ask your forgiveness."

Harry opened his mouth but before he could think of anything clever to say, the headmaster went on.

"As you, Miss Granger, and Mr Weasley, have proved to be the closest and most loyal friends of Harry's, it seems only fair to let you share this confidence. Moreover, I am quite convinced that, given the time, you, Miss Granger, would find out most of what you will hear by yourself, and this way you will save time and misunderstandings can be avoided. But perhaps you will tell us what your research has discovered so far?"

Hermione, who had blushed proudly at the headmaster's praise, looked surprised.

"What – what about?"

"Well, can't you guess?" Professor Woods put in. "There are two non-curricular topics you have been looking into recently, aren't there?"

"How do you - ? Yes, that's right, professor. A matter of ancient runes, and – and – Fleur's private classes with you."

"And which conclusions have you reached?"

"Well, I think the latter is rather obvious, isn't it? You are teaching them some kind of spell or spells that can only be performed by witches, similar to the Veela charm, that are not an innate power but can be _learned_… There's just one thing I'd like to know…" she continued hesitantly.

"What, my dear?" the defence professor asked kindly.

Hermione blushed deeply again.

"Why – why didn't you ask me to join? I mean – I _want_ to learn, and…" her voice faltered away.

"I know what you mean," professor Woods sympathised. "Being the cleverest witch of your year, if not the whole school, actually…" Hermione brightened at this. "But I'm sorry to say that there are some things that cannot be learned the normal way. With the _Arma mulierum_ charms, you need the gift, rather than the intellectual capacity which you doubtlessly possess. So I'm afraid you will have to content yourself with the more common variants of _Confundus_ or _Disillusionment."_

Hermione's face fell.

"It is a highly imprecise branch of magic, anyway," McGonagall put in, and the disapprovement in her voice was very clear. "_Very_ similar to Divination… _And_ highly questionable, morally," she added after a pause. "So I should not worry about it at all if I were you, Miss Granger; there are countless fields of magic open to a witch of your abilities that will be a lot more satisfying."

"Good reasoning, at any rate, Miss Granger," Dumbledore interjected. "Tell me, have you come to any other conclusions regarding this matter? Or speculations, perhaps?"

"Yes –," Hermione began hesitantly, "There IS something I've been wondering about for some time already…" she faced professor Woods again. "There was this lesson a couple of weeks ago, where you had us practise resisting that spell, remember?"

The professor nodded.

"Well, I thought, then, that sort of spell was only a natural Veela talent, and so I couldn't help asking myself… but – but it couldn't be… I mean, you don't…" she broke off, clearly embarrassed.

"I don't what, dear? Look like a Veela?"

"Erm – well – yes, I suppose that's what I wanted to say… and – and now that I know it can be learned easily enough, I must have been wrong, obviously…"

"Ten points to Gryffindor for excellent reasoning," said the professor with a smile. "I knew you would find out sooner or later, Miss Granger. Yes, that's exactly what I am – a Veela!"

"And my grandmother!" Fleur, who could not keep quiet any longer, blurted out.

The sensation was tremendous. Obviously not even McGonagall had known, if her stunned expression was any indication and the look on Ron's face was one of such dumbfoundedness that Fleur could only barely suppress an outburst of laughter.

_You crafty wench!_ Harry's thoughts were in her mind, and she felt immediately guilty. Harry's mental tone, however, was amused and put her at her ease immediately.

_No need to feel sorry,_ he reassured her_, I quite understand – it just wouldn't do for the school to know. And I must hand it to you – you've done an excellent job. That's why she seemed so familiar somehow, back in France…_

Hermione, on the other hand was wearing a satisfied smile, obviously very proud of herself.

"Veela?"

The sound from Ron was not really articulate.

"Polyjuice, Ron," Hermione told him, patiently.

"_Enchante, madame,_" Harry said in a somewhat exaggerated tone, bowing to the professor with a cheeky grin.

"I suppose we are to keep this secret," Hermione, ever practical, inquired.

"Naturally," Dumbledore said calmly. "And I would be personally indebted to you if this did not go beyond these walls. The ministry would only be too happy to find a reason to interfere with the school again…"

"But – but why…" Ron had found his voice again.

"To keep an eye on this young lady here," Vivienne explained. "After that attack on her, we just wanted to be very careful. And as, fortunately, the post of Defence teacher happened to be vacant, I applied for it…"

"And let me say that you are doing a magnificent job," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Even if last year has made me a bit wary of teachers using Polyjuice…"

"Thank you, headmaster," Vivienne said meekly, but with a sparkle in her eyes that reminded Harry of the scene under the mistletoe.

"Now that this little secret has been unveiled," Dumbledore continued, sounding quite satisfied with himself, "let us proceed to the other topic at hand – those runes. Have you found out anything yet? And before you start telling the long story – yes, all of us know where and how you found them…"

At this, however, Hermione suddenly exploded.

"Why don't you look for your stupid runes yourselves, high and mighty as you are, all of you? Here you've been playing games with us for months on end –," she shot Fleur an angry look and then addressed the teachers again, "For all I know, you've worked those runes out already anyway. We're just simple stupid students after all, aren't we? How should we…"

She broke off, fuming.

"You are doing yourself grave injustice, Miss Granger, as you are most certainly anything but a simple stupid student," Dumbledore said mildly. "But I quite understand your annoyance. If these were just ordinary runes, you would be perfectly right, too. However, they are not…"

"They seem to be Atlantean," Vivienne put in. "But the peculiar thing about Atlantean runes is that, no matter how carefully you copy them, no copy can ever represent them in any discernible way. That's one of the reasons why many authorities still claim they are just a myth…"

McGonagall made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a snort, but said nothing.

There was a rustling in the back of the room and Sirius emerged from the curtains.

"Moreover," he said grinning hugely at the youngsters' surprise, "the whole thing has completely disappeared from that wall in the cave. So it's very likely it had only appeared shortly before I found it – which is some relief, I can tell you…"

"So the long and the short of it all," Dumbledore picked up the thread again, "Is that the only way to find out more about these strange affair is…"

"A pensieve," Hermione realised at once.

"Exactly. And I should be extremely indebted to you if you allowed me to examine your memories. It may be highly important to look into this matter very carefully."

"Of course we will, professor," Harry said at once, and the others nodded their agreement.

After some time – it was hard to say exactly how long, with their various turns at the pensieve, - the headmaster stopped the procedures.

"Thank you all for your patient cooperation," he beamed at them. "I think this is about all that we can hope to find out. Now I believe you, - " he turned to Vivienne, " – are already certain that these are Atlantean, or at least very similar. After examining the evidence, Minerva, what is your opinion?"

"They are certainly nothing I have ever seen before," the professor grudgingly admitted, "and the impossibility of getting them copied is also quite strange… So, for all practical purposes, let's, for the sake of argument, consider them to be Atlantean. The question is, what do they mean? Or, more precisely, how can we ever hope to decipher it?"

"But – er – isn't there – " Ron, who had been uncharacteristically silent during these proceedings, obviously rendered speechless by the unexpected developments, found his voice again. "I mean, there IS an Ancient Runes professor at this school?"

"Actually, there is," Hermione told him, trying not entirely successfully not to sound condescending. "And I'm sure professor Babbling is good at it, too. But think of it, Ron, these are not just ordinary runes…"

"That can be learned and dealt with like spells," McGonagall put in, looking distinctly sour. "No, they seem to have more in common with the – er – _Veela_-like aspects of magic -," she shot a not-too-friendly glance at Vivienne, "More like – well, things like Divination, if you ask me…"

"An excellent point, Minerva," Dumbledore said with a chuckle, his eyes twinkling. "And therefore, who better to consult than – no, not who you think, a _real_ expert… The night is clear and not too cold, too, so why don't we all depart right away?"

With a few movements of his wand, he conjured a door in the air in the middle of the room. When he opened the door, there was a grassy patch bathed in moonlight behind it.

"Now, if you will kindly follow me…" he said as he stepped through the door.

A/N: Of course I'm shamelessly abusing CSL here, but a simple portkey would have been too normal...


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46

**AN:** Well friends, after a rather long interval her is something new – and to make it up to you, it's TWO chapters! Happy reading!

**Chapter 46**** Portals**

"The forbidden forest?" Ron's voice came almost like a bleat. Nobody bothered to answer.

Fleur remembered the place all too well. In this same clearing they a year ago Gabrielle had found the strange amulet that later had disappeared again.

Thus, she was not really surprised when a group of centaurs approached them. She could not be sure, but she believed she recognised their leader. None of them looked too friendly.

"Greetings, Bane," Dumbledore said solemnly. "I must crave your pardon – I have not forgotten that you do not normally suffer humans to enter your realm; however, I am in serious need of advice that only the wise and noble centaurs can grant…"

Fleur thought he was laying it on somewhat thick, but the effect of this speech was quite obvious.

"What is it that the learned Dumbledore cannot find out by himself?" The centaur's voice sounded definitely smug.

"Atlantean runes…" there was a sharp intake of breath from the centaur. Dumbledore continued. "Only an ancient race like yours knows about them."

The centaur inclined his head silently.

"These young people here have found this…" Dumbledore said, proffering the pensieve. "I would be greatly obliged if I could have your opinion."

Again without speaking, Bane took the pensieve and with his companions retreated towards the edge of the clearing.

"Ah," Dumbledore sighed, clearly relieved. "Now there's nothing but to wait until they return. No, Sirius, you can't rush a centaur, and you know it…"

Sirius took a deep breath, but Dumbledore gestured for him to be silent.

After what seemed a long time, though it was difficult to say in the dark, the centaurs returned.

"About time," Sirius grumbled, but subsided at a severe glance from the headmaster.

"A Portal," Bane said, as if that explained everything.

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth to speak, but at a gesture from Dumbledore thought better of it. Vivienne exchanged a quick glance with the headmaster but did not say anything either.

"Thank you, Bane," Dumbledore said quietly, taking the pensieve back from the centaur. "I am greatly indebted to you. Now we will trouble you no further…"

Again he conjured the door in the air, and within a few moments they were back in his office.

"A Portal?" McGonagall's voice was shaking, whether with anger or confusion was hard to tell.

"Portal?" Hermione echoed. "But they are – "

"Another myth?" Vivienne said mockingly, if kindly.

"Yes! Like – like Atlantis, like Avalon, like… oh!"

"You see, Miss Granger," Dumbledore put in, "as the poet says – there are more things twixt hea'en and earth…"

"Just imagine someone had told you you were a witch five or six years ago…" Harry reminded her with a grin.

"Will someone tell me what you're all talking about?" Ron inquired impatiently.

"Yes, that sounds like a good idea," Harry assisted his best friend. "I have no more of an idea than you have," he added.

"Portals," Hermione went into lecture mode once again, "are – are _supposed_ to be doors between the worlds. Muggle scientists have created what they call the Multiverse theory; this theory is based on what they call binary mathematics. Now, as we all know, at every single instant in time, there are always TWO possibilities: Something either happens, or it doesn't…"

"Obviously," Ron, clearly proud of having understood something at last, nodded.

"Good, Ron," Hermione said with a smile. "Either you catch the bludger, or whatever it is that you catch as a keeper, or you don't. So far, so good. Muggle scientists, however, believe – in fact, they have created mathematical models that make it plausible, even logical, - that BOTH possibilities happen, thus creating an infinite number of parallel worlds; some, or indeed most of them, very similar, others fundamentally different.

"So there might be a world next door, where Ron has black hair, for example?" Harry asked.

"Exactly. And of course, even very small changes at the start could end up in enormous differences after some time. Some writer called it the 'Trousers of Time' – "

"So," Harry said, fascinated, "in a world, where Malfoy is not a git, he doesn't insult Buckbeak, he doesn't get hurt, there is no death sentence for Buckbeak, who is taken back to the forest, and we – "

"Don't get to rescue Sirius. Very clever, Harry." Hermione nodded appreciatively.

Sirius shivered.

"This muggle theory, however," Hermione went on in her lecture, "Is perfectly pointless, as all scientists agree there will never be a way to verify it. Moving from one world to another would take more energy than there exists in the entire universe. In the wizarding world, on the other hand, there is a – _legend –_ that says the same, only it claims that there are ways to get from one world to another through those Portals."

"An excellent explanation, Miss Granger," Dumbledore nodded. "And you are certainly not alone in your belief – or rather, disbelief, - concerning this legend." He glanced over to McGonagall with a smile. "Quite a lot of experts in our world share it. However – "

"There are several sources that think differently," Vivienne put in. "In fact, some say that, for example, Dementors originally come from one of those parallel worlds. It would certainly explain a few things about the foul creatures. Also," and here she addressed McGonagall directly, "There are some other indubitable facts that very clearly speak in favour of these so-called legends. The Mirror of Erised…"

Harry breathed in sharply.

"I – I saw my parents in it…" he said excitedly. "Do you mean there – there is a world where they didn't – "

"Theoretically, yes." Hermione's voice was small.

"So there could be a – a way to that world?"

"I wouldn't put my hopes on that, Harry…" Dumbledore said gently. "It shows us our deepest desires, as you know, and it's true that some people believe it is a window into other worlds, which would fit in very well with the theory Miss Granger has so admirably explained to us. So, it may very well show one of the parallel worlds in which your parents survived… However, there is no known way to get _inside_ that mirror – or any other mirror, at that."

Harry's excitement evaporated as fast as it had appeared; Fleur put a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"There is another artefact that seems to support the legend of the Portals," the headmaster went on. "And you know about it as well, Minerva – the veil in the Department of Mysteries…"

"Veil?"

"Yes, Miss Delacour. In the more secret parts of the Ministry of Magic in London, there is a very strange thing: An ancient stone arch, standing all by itself in the middle of a large hall. Or rather, that hall, like the rest of the building, was erected around the arch, hundreds or thousands of years later. Nobody knows who or when or why that arch was built. It doesn't appear to lead anywhere, you can walk around it and not be any the wiser."

"Like that door that you created!"

"Indeed, Mr. Weasley. That arch, however, is hung with a veil, so that you can not see through. Some people say they have heard voices behind the veil, but when they walked around it, there was nothing there – obviously…"

"But has nobody ever just simply walked THROUGH it?"

"Not for a long time, Harry. Because the thing is that you cannot walk THROUGH that arch. Those who tried – just disappeared and were never seen again, the reports say. That's also why it has been forbidden to go near the arch for a few hundred years. The point is, anyway, that some scholars say the arch is a Portal, a relic from Atlantean times. You can be sure the most learned wizards and witches have tried to find out the mystery of the arch, but without any success."

"Don't forget, Albus," Minerva McGonagall said, looking annoyed, "that there are many other scholars that believe differently – the arch is also explained as a door into the Otherworld, or the Realm of the Dead…"

"But a Door, nevertheless," Dumbledore replied with a smile, "a Door into another world, and that's the point, isn't it? It's not even necessarily doors, these Portals can take a lot of different shapes, it is said; some say a simple hole in the ground…"

"Like the rabbit hole?" Hermione inquired.

"Right again," Dumbledore said approvingly. "Some of these stories certainly seem to indicate that their authors knew exactly what they were doing. In fact, I personally am not even sure Mr Dodgson _was_ a muggle in the first place…"

"Whatever," Sirius interrupted, sounding somewhat impatient. "This may all be very interesting and it certainly makes for a nice talk in front of a cosy fire on a rainy day, but I don't really see what it's got to do with us. What difference does it make if that _thing_ on the cave wall WAS a – whaddya-callit – a Portal? It's gone. I told you about that tiny detail, didn't I? So what's all the fuss about? You can't summon it back can you? Not that I'd see any reason why anybody would want to, anyway…"

"Yes and no, Sirius," the headmaster said. "It's true that there is no known way to summon a Portal, they just seem to appear and disappear randomly. However, it would be quite interesting to know how long it was there, ("IF it was there," McGonagall muttered looking mutinous.) and, more importantly, if anything went through it. Remember what Madame Woods said about the Dementors? And then think of other creatures mentioned in some tales…"

"Like - the – Jabberwock?" Hermione said haltingly, remembering a conversation with Luna in the last school year. Her remark earned her a reproachful look from her head of house. Minerva McGonagall was clearly not completely convinced.

"For example," Dumbledore nodded. "Or just about anything…"

"There's one thing that worries me," Vivienne put in. "Those runes…"

"The centaur never said what they actually _mean_, did he?" Hermione interrupted.

"That, of course," Vivienne nodded. "But that's most likely beside the point. Runes do not just appear by themselves…"

"Someone must have drawn them," Fleur said, "and that would mean…"

"That someone – or something – CAN actually create such a Portal. AND must have done so rather recently!"

"Naturally, Harry," the headmaster agreed. "Of course someone DID draw those runes and DID create that Portal – the Atlanteans, as the _legend_ says, and as I myself am inclined to believe. Today, however, their creation is a lost art, - my own poor spell that took us to the forest and back is a last very faint remnant of it, or so some experts believe, and it is pretty unlikely anybody should have rediscovered it in our times. There is more than a good chance, I believe, that Portals, after being created by the Atlanteans, have not disappeared completely, but reappear rather randomly through the centuries; it would fit in very well with many reports. So even if it is true that someone must have drawn those runes to create the Portal, it most likely happened a few thousand years ago. If that is the case, there isn't all that much to worry about."

"But – do the legends say anything about how they did it?" Hermione inquired. "I mean – that rabbit hole is an – an accident, isn't it? It's not that Alice has any control of the things that are going on… And then – what would be the point of creating a thing like that?"

"Well, Miss Granger," Dumbledore smiled, "for most humans the first reason for doing things is simply that they _can_… However, you are quite right; there wouldn't be much of a point… And indeed there are some tales that claim that there were some tools that could be used to _choose_ where you were going. Stories about rings, or even knives… But again, these tales are far too vague and unreliable to be taken at face value."

"Is it considered a piece of dark magic?"

"Like most magic, Harry," Vivienne said, "it is neither light nor dark in itself. It is rather dangerous, though, especially if handled irresponsibly, let alone with dark motives. But this can be said about everything, right?"

"Anyway," the headmaster said with an air of finality, "Sirius is right – there is nothing much we can do at the moment, except keeping our eyes open for any other Portals that might appear. If any of you observe anything suspicious, let me know at once. And it would be wise to keep it a secret, just as well as the other subject matter we have discussed this evening."

"It is rather late," McGonagall said with an air of finality. It was obvious she wanted to get rid of a topic that she did not enjoy at all. "So you'd better get back now. A little Disillusionment Charm will avoid any unwelcome collisions with Mr Filch…"

On their way to Ravenclaw Tower – of course Harry had insisted on escorting her there – Fleur could not miss his distracted mood.

"What's the matter, cherie?" she demanded, stopping and pulling him towards her.

"Nothing," muttered Harry, his eyes giving him away.

"Don't," she said softly. "I believe I know you at least a little bit by now, It's no use pretending, Harry. And I certainly hope you trust me enough to tell me what's troubling you…"

He looked at her uncertainly, thinking of something to say.

"Wait," she said, and her beautiful eyes began to fill with tears, "I think I know… your parents in the Mirror… that's what it is…"

Harry could only nod, choking back a sob.

"Oh Harry!" Fleur threw her arms around him, hugging him passionately. "I promise you – I'll help you – if there is a way – any way at all – I know that's what you want, more than anything…"

"No, my love," Harry said gently, "There will always be something that I want more – a lot more…"

AN:

Another note to my esteemed readers: Favourite story/author is all very well, but it's a bit lame if you think of it. So, guys, REVIEW!!


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47 Sorting things out

The special lessons with Professor Woods were continued the following Saturday. The main task for the girls to master was the reduction of wand movement.

"It would not be much use if your opponents could see you were going to perform some spell and thus had time to shield themselves," the professor said. "So it is essential, in the long run, that you learn to perform it without any wand at all."

"But professor," Daphne Greengrass spoke up, "It is always said wandless magic is among the most advanced areas of magic, and not everybody is able to learn it…"

"Very true," the professor said appreciatively. "But then it is equally true, if not more so, that the skills I am teaching you here cannot be _learned_ at all – _learned_ in the normal sense of the word, of course. Just like wandless magic can only be learned by specially gifted people, our charms take a special inborn talent; and unless I'm not very much mistaken, all of you possess that talent."

Again the portrait of the young wizard proved to be helpful in their practice, and most of the girls managed to develop their skills in the desired direction.

Again the two Slytherins, Carmilla daSilva and Siobhan O'Malley, caused their target to behave in similarly weird ways as last time, and especially Carmilla was definitely not happy with it at all.

"Don't worry," the professor told her soothingly. "We'll work on that. I don't see why you shouldn't be able to focus your powers in a different direction. Of course we can't have this sort of thing – imagine if he could get out of that picture…"

Carmilla shuddered and seemed to turn a shade paler still.

"It's the same for you, Miss O'Malley," the professor continued. "I am sure things will work out at last. All you need to practice is to concentrate on your appropriate half…"

"What on earth is she talking about?" Fleur whispered to Lyra; but her friend just shrugged helplessly.

When it was Lavender's turn, though, try as she might, her spell did not have the slightest effect again.

"I'm quitting!" she screamed in frustration, throwing down her wand.

"One moment, Miss Brown," the teacher told her, bending down to pick up her wand. "We don't want any rash conclusions, do we?"

She waved her wand, and another portrait materialised on the wall. It showed a very young man, a boy, rather, in a dark blue velvet suit and a white shirt with an elaborate lace collar on his shoulders and down his front. He was wearing a huge beret of the same material with a large white feather. There was a scene of a shipwreck in the background.

"Once more, if you please," the professor said, handing Lavender her wand.

And indeed, to Lavender's great surprise, the effect of her spell was immediate. The young man opened his arms in a longing gesture, then went down on his knees and started picking some flowers, which he offered Lavender with a smile.

Speechless, Lavender reached out as if to accept the flowers. The spell broke and the portrait woke from its state, dropping the flowers.

"I – I'm sorry, I didn't expect…" the figure stammered, blushing furiously. "You – you won't tell Olivia, will you?" it addressed the teacher, looking at her anxiously.

"But you did know what this was all about," the professor said, sounding amused. "And I'm sure you have told her what you were going to do, haven't you?"

"Of course; I always tell her everything," the portrait said proudly. "No more false pretences between us! You are right, madam, there is nothing to be ashamed of, it IS a very powerful spell, after all, isn't it?"

"That it is indeed, and she has no reason whatever to be jealous. Well, let me thank you very much, you have done us a great service, perhaps in more than one way. So I don't want to detain you no longer, give my best regards to Olivia and your dear brother Sebastian. I hope his relationship is going well?"

A smirk appeared in the portrait's face.

"I'm sure it couldn't go any better. And to think that I… Well, whatever. Glad to have been able to help you, dear; you certainly are very gifted… If you will be so kind, madam, as to send me back, I'll be greatly obliged. Good bye, ladies all…"

The portrait bowed, taking off the beret with a flourish. A cascade of golden locks spilled out from under it, reaching down well below the shoulders.

"Good bye, Viola," Professor Woods said with a big smile as she waved her wand and the portrait disappeared.

Dumbstruck, Lavender gaped at the place where the portrait had been a second before.

"A – a girl?"

"Yes," the professor said gently, "Sometimes we don't know about such things ourselves…" And when Lavender's expression turned from surprise to embarrassment, she added, "There is no need whatsoever to feel uneasy about it, Miss Brown, none at all. It is one of the most natural things in the world, and only narrow-minded hypocrites will think otherwise. You might even think yourself special, if you look at it the right way, don't you think?"

The other girls were standing around the two, and it took some time for the implications to sink in. Fleur, who thought of Margaux and Iphigenie, was among the first to understand.

"Madam Woods is right, you know," she said to Lavender, who looked at her with a frightened expression. "Two of my best friends are perfectly happy together…"

Lavender looked relieved and smiled at her gratefully.

"High time, too," Romilda told her with a cheeky grin. "I mean, everybody in Gryffindor was wondering, - well not exactly everyone, perhaps…"

"Wondering what?" Lavender said weakly.

"When you'd finally realise, of course. Parvati will be over the moon…"

"Absolutely," Padma said with conviction. "She's been afraid you'd never come to your senses…"

Lavender gasped in surprise.

"You mean – she – she won't be mad?"

"Of course not. She's often told me about you; and she's frightened you might not be her friend if she told you how she feels… So if you take my advice, you tell her right away when you come back…"

"Thank you!" With a sigh of relief, Lavender made to hug Padma, but checked herself.

"Er – you don't mind?" she said somewhat sheepishly.

"No, you silly," Padma replied with a big smile, hugging her heartily. "Anything to see my sister happy…"

Lavender returned the hug a bit awkwardly, tears of relief in her eyes.

"I'm afraid, my skill will not be so useful, then," she said ruefully to the professor. "As it will be a bit of a problem to find targets…"

"But then the surprise effect will be all the greater," the professor retorted with a chuckle. "Anyway, I am glad I have not been wrong in my first assessment of your skills; I was already beginning to doubt my judgement. Well, ladies, that's it for tonight, I wish you all a pleasant weekend."

"What's up?" Ron inquired of a heavily yawning Hermione at breakfast.

"Lavender and Parvati," came the muffled reply between two gulps of tea.

"What about them?"

"Being giggly and generally noisy half the night."

"But – isn't that what girls are always doing, anyway?"

"Have you ever heard _me_ giggle, Ron?"

"No, but you are no – er…"

"No what, Ron?" Hermione's voice carried a poisonous sweetness that even Ron could not fail to notice.

"No _girly _girl, is what he means, of course," Harry came to the rescue, which earned him a grateful glance from his best mate. "But what business did they have to be like that in the first place? You've never mentioned them being like that before, have you?"

"At least someone pays attention to what I'm saying," Hermione said slightly peevishly. "They have been doing their fair share of giggling before, that's true. But never together in Parvati's bed and certainly not long after midnight either."

"Both in the same bed?" Ron's ears were turning slightly red.

"_Yes_, and whatever they were doing there is exclusively their own private matter, and I'm sorry I ever brought it up. I just mustn't forget to teach them a good silencing charm, is all."

Before Ron, who was looking thoroughly embarrassed by now, could say anything, though, Neville came sprinting towards their table.

"Tadpoles!" he gasped, completely out of breath.

"What?" The sudden change of subject from pretty girls to tiny amphibians was too much for Ron.

It was not, of course, for Hermione.

"Oh that's wonderful, Neville," she exclaimed. Then she remembered the background story that must have led to the happy event and she stopped. "Oh," she finished, rather lamely.

"Told you so, Neville, didn't I?" A very proud Seamus entered the conversation. "That's what toads _do_, remember? But you'll have to do something, won't you? There'll be hundreds of them; you can't have hundreds of toads in Gryffindor Tower…"

"Easy," Dean laughed, "Just leave the window open, and some owls are sure to find their way in and settle the score…"

Neville turned white.

"Of course not – I won't have Trevor's family _eaten_! Anyway," he added, "It's not hundreds; it's only three as far as I have seen."

"Pretty unusual for toads," Seamus said, sounding rather deflated, and turning his attention back to his baked beans.

"But then it's pretty unusual toads, too, isn't it?" Harry said, winking at Hermione.

"Unusual – why?"

"But Ron, have you forgotten about Trevor's girlfriend?" Harry nudged him.

At last Ron remembered, too, and almost choked on his toast.

"Yes, most unusual," he managed to mumble.

After everybody had duly admired Trevor and his new family – Neville had been right, there were no more than three tadpoles busily squirming in the water, - Hermione went in search of Fleur to tell her the news.

"Dumbledore will need to know about this," Fleur said. "That spell will just keep her in her animal form until – what was it? – Mayday Eve; and there's no knowing what will happen when she turns back."

"Not that she doesn't look much nicer now," Hermione added. "But it's true, he will have to be told about it."

Thus it happened that shortly after lunch Minerva McGonagall paid a visit to the Gryffindor common room. As this usually only happened when there had been a serious case of misbehaviour, several students felt rather apprehensive at the sudden appearance of their Head of House, and especially the Weasley twins discreetly faded into the background.

"I hear about a rather rare species of toad," the professor said, noticing with amusement the relief that was evident on some faces. "And I would just like to look at them. They belong to you, Mr Longbottom, I believe."

Glowing with pride, Neville introduced Trevor and his family to the teacher.

"Really an interesting specimen," McGonagall said, picking up the toad-formerly-known-as-Dolores-Umbridge. "What did you say it was?"

"A German Exploding Toad," Neville replied, hardly believing there was something he knew and a teacher didn't. "It's the pattern on the head, you see..."

"Ah, I see," McGonagall muttered, sounding a bit absent-minded. She was looking at the toad intently, and a close observer might have seen her lips moving silently, as if talking to the animal.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Longbottom," she said at last, putting the toad down. "Very interesting indeed. I may come again in a couple of weeks to see how things are going. We need to be very careful with rare species like this one."

Hermione, who had been watching the scene closely, had a hard time to keep a straight face, especially when McGonagall caught her eye.

"So?" Dumbledore inquired.

"I'm not sure," Minerva McGonagall said doubtfully. "There are three tadpoles all right, a thing that, as some of the students have also noted, is quite unusual with toads. What's troubling me is that I could not really communicate with her…"

"No contact at all?"

"Well, not exactly; I could sense a certain feeling of – contentment, calm… I can't really describe it. But there were certainly no distinct thoughts – none that I could recognise, at least…"

"Which is not the usual state of affairs with Animagi… Of course, our experience with amphibian Animagi is quite small, so it might not be anything extraordinary about it. But whatever we do, we will have to keep a careful watch on her on Mayday Eve."

"Absolutely," Minerva said with a grim smile. "It would simply not do to have her revert to her true form among the students…"

A few days later, as Harry was sitting by himself in the Gryffindor common room trying to concentrate on his Transfiguration essay, Romilda Vane sat down in the chair on the other side of the table. A wave of some rather strong perfume attacked his nose and he looked up in surprise. Romilda's deep brown eyes were only a few inches from his face and he found himself staring into them.

"What?" he began, but suddenly there was a strange feeling creeping up inside him.

_She's very pretty,_ he found himself thinking. _How come I've never noticed her before?_

And he felt the strong urge building up inside him to do something really spectacular to impress her.

He was halfway out of his chair, with some very foggy ideas about somersaults on the table, when a voice in his head said,

_What do you think you're doing? She's trying to hex you, don't you see?_

Harry shook himself and plopped down in his seat again.

"Stop it!" he told the girl, sounding angrier than he actually was. "Whatever you're doing, stop it, doesn't work on me!"

Romilda turned a deep red under all her make-up.

"I – I'm sorry," she began, looking at him with a frightened expression. "I – I was just wondering…"

Suddenly Harry understood.

"You were trying Professor Woods' spell on me, weren't you?"

Romilda nodded.

"But – what for?"

Romilda blushed even more deeply but said nothing.

"You mean you – you have – you are… oh, Merlin!" he laughed out loud. "No, no way. You'll have to find someone else to try that spell on."

But when he saw the tears well up in her eyes he added good-naturedly,

"I mean – you're very pretty and everything, and I'm sure there are many guy who would be happy to go out with you and things, but just not me, I'm sorry. Why not pick someone else – er – Ron, perhaps?"

_He would probably not need much enchanting anyway,_ but he didn't say that.

"Ron?" Romilda snorted in disgust.

"Ah, come, he's not as bad as all that," Harry said, but had to admit to himself that Romilda did have a point. "Anyway," he went on, "Whoever, just not me, understand?"

Silently Romilda nodded and fled.

_The little minx!_ suddenly Fleur's thoughts were in his head. _The idea!_

_How do you…? _Harry replied, surprised.

Her thoughts sparkled merrily.

_I just felt your confusion when you considered doing something stupid under the spell… I couldn't help wondering how you'd deal with it. And let me congratulate you, you managed to shake her off beautifully. And she IS a very good-looking girl…_

_But she could never, ever, come even close to you, _Harry told her putting all his emotions into his thoughts. _I'm not talking about your looks here, _he continued, _And you know it. How can there ever be anybody else but you?_

AN:

Once again, I'd like to ask a few questions:

What's the matter with Carmilla daSilva and Siobhan O'Malley?

Where did I borrow Viola and her friends?

And yes, I've always thought that Parvati and Lavender should end up together.


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48 Toad News

February turned into March. Ron's birthday party, to Hermione's dismay, (and the – secret -delight of most of the rest of the Gryffindors) ended with the redhead spending most of the night in the bathroom being sick, due to Fred and George's generous donations of butterbeer and firewhisky, a development that resulted in an obvious cooling of her feelings for her best friend.

"He's impossible sometimes," Hermione sighed in the morning, looking scornfully at Ron, who was distinctly the worse for wear; he didn't even seem too interested in his food, a rare occasion.

"Aw, give him a break," Harry told her with a grin. "You only turn sixteen once in your life, don't you?"

Hermione snorted contemptuously.

"What a clever observation, Harry. AND seventeen, and eighteen, and… **I** turned sixteen some months ago, didn't I? And did you see me getting sloshed like that?"

Although the thought _I'd have loved to_ did cross Harry's mind, he had sense enough not to express it; so he just made some non-committal noises in answer to the question which was purely rhetorical, anyway.

"Just wait till I get those twins," Hermione continued darkly. "It's their fault, actually. They know how easily they can manipulate him. And then Dean and Seamus egging him on even more… He just can't say no…"

Harry, who had seen Hermione doing her own share of manipulating Ron during the years, said nothing.

As the Easter break drew nearer, Hermione and Ron were beginning to have a new topic of discussion.

"You'll be coming with us to the Burrow, of course," he would say. "I mean, it's the last break before all the OWL stress sets in, after all. And Merlin knows I can use a break. To say nothing about you," he added as an afterthought.

Invariably, Hermione would bristle at that.

"A break from what, I'd like to know," she'd say, rolling her eyes. "It's not exactly as if you'd been working yourself to the bone, is it? No, Ronald Weasley, this is the last opportunity to get some serious revising done without interruption, be it by teachers or annoying first years; _or_ Fred and George, for that matter. I'll most certainly stay here, where I have access to the library. And that's what you'll do if you know what's good for you."

And Ron would grumble something indistinct and go in search of someone to beat at chess to get rid of his frustration.

For the seventh years it was a matter of course to stay at the school and get as much revising done as they possibly could, and Fleur, even though she would have loved to go home, was sensible enough to do the same.

"The school will be very quiet," Harry told her to cheer her up. "Basically, only fifth and seventh years will stay behind; so we'll see a lot more of each other than during a normal week. If that's any consolation."

And Fleur's reaction very clearly showed him that indeed it was.

To nobody's great surprise – except perhaps his own – Ron found himself among those staying at the school, and on Saturday morning he dutifully – if grumbling – trailed after Hermione in the direction of the library.

Fleur and her roommates were also just getting up from the breakfast table to head in the same direction, when Harry came up to them.

"There's just an idea that I've had," he began a bit awkwardly, seeing himself confronted with the five girls. "But I expect you'll be busy…"

"Never too busy for you," Fleur told him after a quick kiss. "What is it?"

"We'd better go ahead," Calliope said with a smile. "Just join us when you're finished, Fleur, will you?"

"I've been thinking," Harry said, when he and Fleur were alone. "About you and that dementor. And I've realised you still don't know how to produce a Patronus. Unless it's seventh year stuff and you have learned in the meantime."

Fleur assured him that they hadn't. "Why are you asking?"

"Because – if it doesn't sound too preposterous – I've been wondering if you'd want me to teach you?"

"Oh, Harry, with all the things going on around you, you can still think of something like that! Of course I'd love to learn. And I don't think anything you say can ever be preposterous…"

"Although – who am I to offer teaching a thing like that? I can do it, that's true, but that doesn't mean I can _teach_ it to somebody else, does it?"

"Stop it, Harry. You can, believe me. When do we start?"

Fleur was right, Harry really had a teaching talent, and after only a few days she had managed the difficult spell perfectly.

"It's quite simple," she said to Harry one evening, when her Patronus, a cheetah, had dissolved in a shower of glittery silvery stars after prancing around the room for a couple of minutes. "I mean – happy thoughts… Nothing easier now that I have you…"

In due course the Easter break was over, the students returned to the school, and the daily routine of lessons, homework and revising established itself again.

"Never thought I'd be actually glad for school to start again," Ron could be heard grumbling when Hermione was out of earshot. "I am pretty sick of that library, believe me."

Towards the end of April, McGonagall started to pay visits to Gryffindor Tower more frequently and seemed to have developed an interest in toads bordering on obsession. Trevor and his mate – whom Neville had christened Thusnelda, it being a German toad, - seemed perfectly happy in their glass box, and the three little tadpoles were growing beautifully.

Neville, who was extremely proud that the professor should be so fascinated by his pets, got on everybody's nerves by worrying how to name the couple's offspring.

"Why don't you just call them Hewey, Dewey and Louie, and get it over with?" Seamus said exasperatedly, when Neville had been debating several possibilities with himself.

"They aren't ducks," Neville replied scornfully. "AND they are very special, so they'll need special names, not like some cartoon characters."

"Regan, Goneril and Cordelia," Hermione suggested, trying hard to sound serious. "Special enough for you, Neville?"

"But two of them are evil," Neville replied earnestly. "Besides, I can't tell if they are boys or girls yet…"

"Well, Neville," Hermione stated, "Then what's all the fuss about? As long you don't know that, you can hardly give them any names at all, can you?"

"She's right, you know," Seamus added, not really bothering to hide his grin. "How embarrassing to get a girl's name when you are a boy… Such things can result in severe psychological disturbances… So can you just name them Toad One, Two and Three until you can tell what they are?"

Apart from Neville the entire Gryffindor common room was red in the face and shaking with suppressed giggles.

"Do you know – I think I'll do that," Neville, completely oblivious to that fact, said. "Thanks for the advice."

On the thirtieth of April, McGonagall, on her latest visit to Gryffindor Tower, said to Neville,

"I wonder, Mr. Longbottom, if I might borrow your toads for two or three days?"

Neville's eyes grew big.

"What – what for?"

A close observer – like Hermione Granger, for example, - might have noticed (and have been duly surprised) that the Deputy Headmistress seemed at a loss for words, and somewhat embarrassed by the fact, too, even if only for a very brief moment.

"Erm – the – the headmaster and I, we – have read some very new reports about those German Exploding toads – no, I don't expect you'll be familiar with them, Mr. Longbottom – especially concerning their – er – mating behaviour in springtime. And we would really like to study that…"

When Neville looked extremely sceptical, she added,

"Of course I promise that nothing will happen to any of these creatures, and you will have them back absolutely unharmed in a few days. You would be doing all of us a very great favour indeed."

Naturally, Neville could not very well refuse a request like that, and so the glass case with Trevor and his family in it was duly levitated carefully and removed from the Gryffindor common room.

"I can't tell you how grateful we are, Mr Longbottom," McGonagall's final words were on leaving. "Twenty-five points to Gryffindor for being so co-operative."

As the real reason behind her fascination with toads was only known to the trio, most of the other students were somewhat surprised by that generous reward.

"So those boring old reptiles are good for something, after all," Seamus said with a big grin. "Though I can't for the life of me imagine what she might want with them."

"Amphibians, Seamus," Neville corrected him patiently. "And they are very remarkable, no matter what you say; that is, Thusnelda is, at any rate."

"You can say that again," Hermione told Harry in a whisper.

"I only hope she'll treat them well," Neville sighed, sounding worried.

When the toads had been safely stowed away in Dumbledore's office, the headmaster sat back in his chair with a smile.

"Now all we can do is wait for the fateful hour," he said to Woods and McGonagall, who were sitting in comfortable armchairs, sipping tea.

"I only hope you have a plan, Albus," McGonagall said worriedly. "I mean, what are we going to do with her when she turns back?"

"We'll see about that when we are there," Dumbledore replied serenely. "Who knows, perhaps she has become a better toad – I mean, person? Perhaps she has realised the errors of her way? She's had time enough to think about things, hasn't she? And if nothing else, we can always Obliviate her…"

"I just wonder," Woods remarked, "what to make of her – well, kids, I suppose I have to say; they seem normal enough tadpoles, but shouldn't there be a human part about them?"

"There certainly is a deplorable lack of research on that special aspect," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "I have read lots of books about Animagi in my time, but I have never heard of a case where an Animagus produced offspring while in their animal form."

"There is some evidence that this sort of thing did indeed happen," McGonagall said slowly, think of the Minotaur, for example, or those Egyptian gods…"

"True, but there is hardly anything precise; it's all legends and mythology, nothing tangible. So we will make a fascinating new scientific discovery as a side effect … Well, we'll all be wiser within the next twenty-four hours…"

In spite of his demonstrative calm, even Dumbledore was quite noticeably getting more nervous as the midnight drew nearer, and everybody jumped when the huge clock started striking the twelfth hour.

They all looked at the glass case with bated breath.

Thusnelda (formerly known as Dolores Umbridge) let out a hoarse croak, but otherwise did not show any signs of un-toadlike behaviour.

"Are – are you sure we've got the right one, Minerva?"

"How many toads do you think there are in Gryffindor Tower, Albus?" McGonagall bristled.

"It is her all right," Woods stated. "No doubt about it – just look at that mark on the head…"

"But then – why doesn't she…?"

"Change back as she ought to? I have no idea. The spell have worn off, I am perfectly sure about that. So…"

"Let's see…" Woods said slowly, reaching into the tank, lifting the toad out on he palm of her hand and putting it on Dumbledore's desk. Then she performed a few wand movements and muttered a spell.

The toad began to change slowly, and within a minute or so, Dolores Umbridge was perched on the desk, blinking in the candlelight.

"Good evening, Dolores," Dumbledore said, beaming at her. "I owe you an apology, I believe, as well as an explanation…"

Umbridge gulped in a very toadlike fashion.

"Erm – ah…" even her voice sounded like a croak.

"So it was you that was behind everything," she began after a time. "I was wondering… It's been quite some time, hasn't it? Toads have not got much sense of time, you know…How long? Wait, don't tell me, I don't want to know. It doesn't matter, does it? An explanation? Yes, I think I might like to hear that, though…"

"Well," Dumbledore began, and he certainly sounded somewhat embarrassed. He had expected screaming and cursing, a fit of fury, and he was rather put out by her calm tone and relaxed behaviour. "Well, you will remember how you kept interfering and getting on everybody's nerves…"

"Yes, I did that, didn't I? I must have made quite a nuisance of myself…"

McGonagall and Woods gaped at her. Dumbledore also cleared his throat before he continued.

"And of course we could not risk you finding out what you had really come for – Professor Woods' identity. So we had to do something about it, and I thought I had found a rather elegant solution… But it was actually a complete coincidence that you ended up where you did…"

He indicated the glass tank.

"That's where the apology comes in, I believe," he finished.

"Apology accepted," Umbridge answered after a pause. There was a big smile on her face, a smile that none of the others had ever seen her smile; it was open and genuine, nothing like those forced grimaces that everybody remembered.

"Though there is no need for an apology, Albus," she continued. "Actually, I have to thank you for what you have done…"

"Thank me?"

"Yes, I mean it. Thanks to your scheming, I have a family now. You see, I had never felt accepted or welcome or – loved by anybody before. My own fault to some extent, I'm sure, and I'm not asking for any pity, but I had always been lonely and learned to put on some kind of armour… Well, all that has changed now, and if you want to do make it up to me for what you have done – just let me return…"

The three teachers stared at her.

"But – toads…" McGonagall said at last, "They – they are not exactly the brightest or most interesting creatures, are they… No offence," she ended rather lamely.

"You'd be surprised," Umbridge said with a laugh. "It's about _magical_ toads, don't you forget that. You should now, shouldn't you? Cats are not so very difficult from toads after all, even if we may not look so cute and fluffy. Trevor is the most agreeable company one could wish for, and I adore the kids. Don't look so flabbergasted, it takes a toad to understand the way of toads…"

"I expect that's true," said Dumbledore weakly.

"So, if you'd be so good as to let me return…"

"With pleasure. Is there anything we can do for you?"

"No, thank you. The boy is looking after all of us in the most exemplary way. I don't imagine there is much about toads that he doesn't know…However, you could make a supply of especially tasty flies or maggots available to him, my family would certainly appreciate that. So, if you don't mind, I'll say good-bye and thank you. Even if you didn't intend to, you have done me the greatest favour you could…"

"I'll take my hat off to you Dolores," Dumbledore said warmly, shaking her hand. "A decision not many would make. So good luck… And if you ever change your mind…"

"I won't," she replied determinedly. "In fact, I'll take this occasion to officially renounce my Animagus abilities and declare I will remain in my animal form for the rest of my life… And I can't tell you how glad I am to be rid of Fudge, the pompous idiot… Farewell, and don't remember me in too bad a light, if you can…"

While she was speaking these last words, Dolores Umbridge started to change again, and presently Thusnelda, the toad, was again sitting on the desk.

"A better toad…" Woods mused, picking her up and putting her back in the glass tank. "Is there any seer blood in you, Albus?"


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter 49 Marriage of Fire and Water

After she had finished her Potions essay (uses of boomslang fangs in potions – evaluate dangers versus advantages), Fleur went to bed early and soon was fast asleep.

She dreamed…

She was on her broom, flying above the moonlit surface of the lake. If she had been awake, she might have remembered her mysterious experience a year ago, but of course in her dream she had no recollection of it. Also, as very often happens in dreams, she was not at all surprised when she seemed to break through the surface of the lake to find herself suddenly standing in front of the portal-like standing stones.

Unlike last year, however, there was no veiled female figure waiting for her there, but – Harry. And now, at last, she certainly _was_ surprised.

It seemed that he was, too.

"Fleur?"

"Harry?"

Both said at the same time.

"How do you get here?" she asked.

"Well, I could ask you the same… I dreamed I was flying above the lake…"

"Exactly like me! Wait – did you just say you dreamed?"

"Yes; why?"

"Because – it's crazy, I know, but – you know that in a real dream you never ask yourself exactly that! So – "

"You don't mean – we are NOT dreaming? But then – how did we really get here? And where are our brooms?"

And indeed, there was no sign of those.

Now that she had realised she must be awake, even if she still had problems believing it, Fleur remembered the events a year ago and told Harry about them.

"WHEN did you say that was?"

"On – yes, EXACTLY the same date as today, May Day Eve, or Beltaine, as Luna kept reminding me. I wonder what it all means…"

"And we have no wands…" Harry remarked darkly.

"If it's anything like last year," Fleur tried to reassure him, "there is no danger. She – Morgaine – was friendly and trying to be helpful. Perhaps she'll appear again…"

But they were quite clearly alone in the clearing.

"Quite remarkable stones, these," Harry said, walking closer to them. "I wonder…"

Saying that, he had stepped in between the two standing stones and – Fleur gasped in horror – vanished.

"Harry!" she cried in a strangled voice, rushing after him without thinking. For a short moment she felt a sensation not unlike the effects of a portkey and then the darkness gave way to a brightness that caused her to blink. The place she was suddenly standing in was completely different, and not even the time of day (respectively night) was he same, as it was clearly daylight. 1

But to her immense relief she realised that Harry was standing close to her, equally bewildered, looking at their new surroundings. It seemed to be something like an orchard, a softly sloping meadow of deep green grass sprinkled with a variety of colourful flowers, and several rows of apple trees stretching into the distance. The apples were very much like the kind of plastic apples used for decoration in shop windows, all glossy surface in very bright shades of red and yellow, but somehow the place was so steeped in magic that it seemed only natural. Shrouds of white mists kept weaving in and out between the trees, heightening the mystical atmosphere. There was an almost tangible silence in the air, and a perfectly peaceful atmosphere.

None of them asked the pointless question what sort of place this might be.

Fleur was first to speak.

"Nice enough place, it seems, not dangerous at all. I wonder ..." she continued thoughtfully, "These apple trees - they seem to remind me of something we were taught in History of Magic. Now, what can it have been ...?"

"Welcome to Ynis Affallach, the Apple Island," a soft voice came from the mist. So soft and gentle was this voice that Fleur and Harry did not even start at the sudden sound in the silence.

"- or Avalon, as you would probably call it," she continued, smiling at them warmly. In the bight daylight of the new place, Fleur recognized her at once, even if she looked different. She was clad in long flowing robes of green that continually seemed to change hues. She was not wearing a hood this time, and the most striking aspect about her was her hair which, like Fleur's, fell down to her waist in a sparkling cascade of gold. A wreath of small white flowers was sitting on her head. Her face was that of a young girl, no older than eighteen, but when one looked at her eyes, the very idea of attributing any age at all to her seemed absurd; there was eternity deep down in these pools of blue, as Harry would always say later when remembering this encounter.

Confused, he looked from Fleur to the other girl and back.

"Are – are you sisters, or something?" he said at last.

"I'm sorry," Fleur laughed. "Morgaine of Avalon – Harry Potter!"

"Morgaine? Morgaine le Fay?"

"As I have said before," Morgaine said with a smile, "I have had many names through the centuries; this is just the one that seems most commonly known among wizards, so let us use it. And as for your first impression of me – there is some truth in it; we are sisters in a certain meaning of the word…"

"But – why…?"

"Why you are here?" Her expression changed and – as Fleur had experienced when they had met first, - she looked ancient, sad and serious.

"To offer you a choice, a choice that may decide the fate of many. Come…"

She walked away between the apple trees, up the gradually steeper slope, until they reached the end of the orchard and were looking up a steep grassy mound that rose to a height of some one hundred feet and was crowned with some kind of tower.

"Let us sit down," their guide said, indicating a carved stone bench, "And I will explain it: As you probably know, Ynis Avallach, or Avalon, as muggles and wizards like to call it these days, is a magical country that most people think is no more than legend…"

Fleur remembered Hermione's outburst and smiled.

"Just like you," she said.

"True. If at all, they believe in me as the wife of a minor king in the Dark Days, - long dead, at any rate, - and an evil sorceress. Geoffrey of Monmouth and others have really done a thorough job… But that is neither here nor there. Avalon is the land of eternal youth, abundance and serenity."

"Paradise, the muggles would say," Harry remarked.

"Only that the eating of apples is not forbidden here," Morgaine replied. "And you will be offered to stay here, forever… No misery, no fight or cruelty…no – Voldemort…"

Fleur and Harry looked at each other, but remained silent.

"What's the catch?" Harry asked at last.

"Can you not imagine?"

Fleur was first to realise.

"Forever, Harry," she said slowly. "AND a day… It means never returning to our world, to our friends…"

"And it means Voldemort wins the war hands down," Harry said.

"Choose wisely," Morgaine said softly. "Eternity is a very long time…"

"I cannot choose for you, Harry," Fleur said eventually. "But I refuse. I want to go back to our world; I want to return to my friends and my family; I want to feel sorrow when I must, so I can enjoy happiness when it comes my way… I don't want to seem ungrateful," she said, turning to Morgaine, "but I don't think I could still be myself here. So, no, I will not accept the offer, my choice is made. Even if it means leaving you here, Harry, and returning on my own…"

Her voice quavered at the final statement, but she remained firm.

"Fleur! How can you doubt one moment what my choice will be?" Harry replied reproachfully. "Leave Voldemort to win? My mother's sacrifice to be for nothing? The wizarding world to fall victim to the evil monster? Leave YOU?? Of course I'll return with you. Thanks for the offer, but no thank you. We still have work to do and a prophecy to fulfil!"

With a sob of happiness Fleur hugged him tightly.

"So, I guess we can just as well go back, can we?" Harry at last said to Morgaine. "No offence, it's very generous of you and everything, but there is hardly any reason for us to stay any longer, is there?"

"On the contrary," she replied with a radiant happy smile. "You _have_ chosen wisely indeed. I never expected anything less from you, either. You are ready now…"

"Ready?"

"You have mentioned the prophecy. Remember the words…"

"When water and fire – oh!" Fleur gasped.

"… are married, yes," Morgaine said.

There was a pause.

"Not in the legal sense of the word," she went on. "Neither the muggle nor the wizarding legal system is concerned here. Your marriage will be in a much deeper sense – just like the alchemists marry essences by blending them into one, you will become one – two halves finally united into a whole. You already share so much, and your latest choice has shown that beyond any doubt you are destined to be soul mates. Of course you are still perfectly free to decline and go back to your world the way you came…"

Remembering their conversation a year ago, Fleur shivered slightly and squeezed Harry's hand.

"And miss what may well be the one and only chance? No, I am ready, Harry, if you'll have me."

She realised with a shock that she had used the same words that Roger Davies had said to her at the Yule Ball.

"I'd never want to _have_ you," Harry said softly, putting his arm round her shoulder. "Love you, respect and cherish, share my life with you, yes, and yes again, but that – no, absolutely not!"

"I take this no as a yes," Fleur whispered, joyful tears surging in her eyes. "So, what happens now?" she addressed Morgaine. "Do we go to some kind of sacred place to say the vows?"

"Yes and no. There is one final trial for you go through to prove you are worthy."

"Trial?"

"Yes. Look…"

She waved her hand and a stone arch appeared in the slope next to them. It clearly led into the interior of the mound, into utter blackness.

"This is the entrance to the labyrinth that you have to pass through to reach the sacred shrine. As fire and water are your elements, you will have to brave these on your path. They will weld you together and make you one."

"What – what if something goes wrong?" Fleur asked hesitatingly.

"Alas, that I cannot tell you. Anything might happen. So if there is still some doubt in your minds, you should think about it very carefully. Once you have entered, you will be completely on your own, and have to go through with it to the end…"

It was only a very short glance that Fleur and Harry exchanged before they rose from their seat simultaneously. Holding hands, they determinedly went towards the archway and entered into the darkness.

Fleur's primeval fear of dark and enclosed places immediately hit her, and, perhaps because of the magical nature of the place, a lot harder than on other occasions. Shivering, she nestled closer to Harry, who put a comforting arm round her.

"Quiet, my love, I won't let anything happen to you."

Never had the words _my love_ been said to her like that and she relaxed immediately.

Now that their eyes became more adapted to the darkness, they could notice indistinct shadows moving just at the brink of perceptibility. The very fact that these shadows could never be discerned in any clear way added to the menacing atmosphere, as did the perfect silence. Even if Morgaine had called it a labyrinth, the narrow corridor had no branches and seemed to be more like a spiralling tunnel that kept pulling them ever deeper into the bowels of the mound. They could not have said how long they had been walking when there was a faint sound of rippling water in the distance that grew steadily louder the farther they progressed. At the same time, an indistinct shimmer of a greyish-blue light could be more felt than seen at first but also became stronger at every step.

At the same time, Fleur felt a coldness, a feeling of desolation and loneliness creeping up on her.

"Can you feel it too?" she asked in a whisper.

Harry pulled her even closer to him.

"Almost like a Dementor," he muttered, shivering himself. "And – no wands!"

"But we can still think happy thoughts!" Fleur said in a deliberately loud voice. "There is nothing to fear as long as we are together!"

By now they were walking along what seemed to be a glass tunnel at the bottom of the sea; greenish water was all around them, and the completely invisible barrier that kept the water away was cold and moist to the touch. On the other side of the barrier strange creatures were floating noiselessly.

"Yes, we can do that," Harry agreed resolutely. "Remember how we both looked at that star?"

"Always, and if I get to be as old as Nicolas Flamel!" Fleur said with a deep sigh. "And when I visited you at the place of those horrible muggles…"

"That time down by the river… I do believe it was the very first really happy time over there!"

Wrapped up in those memories, they did not even notice that the green light and the sound of water were gradually getting weaker, until they were finally walking along a stone tunnel again. The coldness and the oppressive feelings had also disappeared again.

"Happy thoughts," Harry said gently, stopping and pulling Fleur close again. "Do you know – I never really knew how to think those, before you taught me…"

Fleur did not reply but willingly melted into his kiss.

"There's still fire to deal with," Harry said after a while. "So I suppose we'd better be getting along."

After a few minutes they noticed that the temperature around them was rising, with shadowy flames flickering on the walls.

"When – when you visited me that morning," Harry began suddenly, his voice suddenly hoarse, "With me in my bed clothes – and – you hugged me like that…"

He did not finish, but Fleur could catch a very clear mental image of his thoughts.

"Or when I all but jumped you," she replied, and was surprised at the strange sound of her own voice, "I – I don't think that Imperius curse would have worked so well if – if…"

She broke off, but quite obviously Harry had no problem understanding, either.

"Slap me," he rasped suddenly, "Hard!"

"But…"

"Now!"

Again Fleur understood and slapped his face, twice. She cringed at the sound.

"So that's their idea of fire," Harry panted, rubbing his face, but grinning. "I couldn't have guaranteed for anything, you just broke the spell in time – thanks."

The fire had begun to grow dimmer, and was almost completely gone again.

"I'm glad I didn't have to hit _you,_ though," Harry said. "Do you think it's safe to hug you again now?"

"If you mean am **I **safe, - not to jump you, I mean," Fleur replied with a tiny relieved giggle, "Yes, I am – just as you are. And I'm sorry I slapped you…"

"Another rather narrow escape," she went on after a pause. "I couldn't say why, but I am absolutely convinced it would have spoiled everything if – if…"

"I know; it's the most natural thing in the world, as everybody keeps saying, but still… it feels wrong somehow, without – without…"

"Being sure of ourselves? That it is more than just the physical part?"

"Yes, that. And it does need something to make it – well, _right_, I suppose; _forever._ Some kind of -"

"Pledge?"

The voice was suddenly in the air, deep and booming. They drew apart and stared.

So wrapped up in their exchange had they been that they had not noticed how their surroundings had changed. Gone was the dark corridor, gone was the stifling, oppressive air – they found themselves under the clear sunlit sky, in something like a courtyard, encircled by ancient-looking stone arches beyond which vistas of wide open landscapes far below opened up to disappear in the blue distance.

The figure of a tall man in white robes was standing in the centre of the circle. For a moment Harry believed it might be Dumbledore, - the long white hair and beard certainly created a resemblance, - but then he felt an aura flowing from him that he had never felt in the headmaster's presence. And as soon as he had realised that, the man's appearance changed and he suddenly looked young, almost a teenage boy Harry's own age.

He could not have said how, but all at once he had no doubt who the man was.

"Merlin?"

The man smiled ever so slightly, but did not answer.

"A pledge?" He repeated.

"Yes, I suppose that's what I mean," Harry said. A firm squeeze from Fleur's hand confirmed his statement.

"You have mastered water and fire, selfish despair and selfish desire," the man intoned in a sonorous voice. "You have proven your valour, you have proven your love."

Suddenly, Morgaine appeared next to him. She motioned for them to step into the centre of the circle, where a single standing stone some tree or four foot high stood; clearly, this stone was hundreds, perhaps thousands of years older than the stone arches. She made Harry and Fleur stand facing each other, the stone between them. They could almost hear the stone's magic crackle in the air.

"When your hands reach out to each other now," Morgaine said solemnly, "You will be bonded for this life and beyond – forever, as true soul mates."

"United as one, never to be parted, should whole worlds come between you," the man Harry was sure was Merlin continued, upon which Morgaine spoke again:

"Always to be each other's light and life, heart and hoard, head and hand."

"To prosper or perish, flower or fade, for now and forever."

Now both spoke together,

"We witness the wedding, Morgaine and Merlin, at Morrigan's menhir, the threefold goddess'."

As Harry and Fleur reached out and their hands touched above the stone, a blinding white light enveloped them, which extinguished everything around them.

When they could see again, their surroundings had again changed. The ancient temple-like structure had disappeared and they found themselves in an airy alcove whose roof was supported by slender carved pillars. Lush green tendrils with purple and red blossoms were all around, their fragrance filling the air.

Morgaine and Merlin were standing in front of them, smiling.

"You have done well," Morgaine said. "And the first part of the prophecy has been fulfilled."

"As for the second part," Merlin went on, "You will have to deal with what is coming to you…"

"Are you _really_ Merlin?" Harry suddenly blurted out.

The man laughed.

"It is as good as any name, I suppose. Like my friend here, I have had many names through the centuries… Your trials are over, if only for now, so you should take the chance to relax and enjoy the new state of your relationship…"

He and Morgaine stepped aside and revealed a low wide bed, covered in luxurious cushions and pillows of various colours.

Harry and Fleur looked at each other and blushed crimson.

"Yes," Morgaine said joyfully, joining their hands. "The trials are over, and so is _that _one. You are free and welcome to do now what you have been wanting to do for such a long time and have wisely saved for when the time would be right. Now that time has arrived at last. Make good use of it – and may it bring you luck…"

With these words she and Merlin disappeared.

The two youngsters stood there, holding hands and looking into each other's eyes for a long time.

"Well…" Harry said at last, uncertainly.

"Well…" Fleur echoed, feeling shy as she had never felt before in his company. Then she pulled herself together, hugged him as tightly as she could, kissing him thoroughly.

"You heard her," she whispered in his ear, snuggling up to him even more closely, "We are to make good use of whatever time we have. So what are we waiting for? I feel I have been waiting long enough for this moment – all my life, in fact…"

She took his hand in her own and placed it on her breast.

"And before you even ask," she said, giving his hand a mischievous squeeze, "There has only been one moment in my life when I have been more sure of something – when I reached out to you across that stone…"

Harry gulped. Fleur smiled at him saucily and went on:

"They say Veela have a special talent for love-making. Let's see if I have inherited a bit of that, shall we?"

They did indeed make very good use of that time…


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N**: Hi everyone, remember me? I do apologize for taking so long with this, but I have experienced the most awful writer's block and just couldn't get myself going. So here are now TWO chapters - take it as a small Xmas gift.

Chapter 50 The Day After

"Ah - Harry!" Fleur whispered, stretching luxuriously, her eyes still closed.

"Harry?"

Her arm had not touched anything but a pillow and bumped against a wooden bedpost. She opened her eyes – and found herself in what was very clearly her bed in the seventh year dormitory in Ravenclaw Tower. And of course she was alone in that bed.

She sat up, confused. Had it all been a dream? Morgaine, their walk through the tunnels of fire and water, their wedding, their – she blushed at the recollection – their love-making?

_Please, let it be real…_

Something in her heart, though, told her it could not have been a dream. Too vivid was the memory, she could still feel Harry's kisses all over her body, the whispered endearments, the blinding ecstasy of their final union…

Just when she was beginning to feel unsure, remembering her encounter with Morgaine a year ago, she noticed it: A small spray of fragrant purple flowers, lying on her pillow.

"Thank you," she whispered, to nobody in particular.

_Good morning, sweetheart,_ Harry's thoughts were suddenly in her head. _I hope you have slept well…_

_Harry! What – what happened?_

_I have no more of an idea than you. I've just woken up in this dingy old bed, with Ron snoring his head off next to me. NOT really a welcome substitute for you, believe me! Are you – are you sure what I think happened did happen? I mean – it feels a thousand percent real, but – is there any proof?_

_Yes, Harry! No doubt about it at all! Oh Harry, I miss you so already!_

_So do I, dearest. I'll be down in the Great Hall in a minute. Can't wait to see you!_

Happily, Fleur swung her feet out of her bed to get dressed.

"Good morning, dear," the mirror in the bathroom said in its simpering voice. "You look especially fetching today, if I may say so."

Normally, the mirror's flattery annoyed Fleur, especially as it always said something like that, no matter how she felt; but this morning she was so happy that she thanked it in her kindest voice.

"You are very welcome," the mirror replied; and it may have been her imagination, but it sounded embarrassed to her.

When she came down into the Ravenclaw common room, she found Luna sitting in one of the armchairs, absently gazing into her crystal ball. When she heard her, she looked up and smiled.

"High time, if you ask me," she said softly.

Fleur could not have explained it, but somehow she knew exactly what Luna was talking about and blushed deeply.

"No, I didn't peek," Luna said quietly, putting the crystal ball away in her bag. "Though I must say it started in a rather interesting way…"

Taking a few deep breaths, Fleur willed the colour to drain from her face.

"How…?"

"I could not really say… There was such a lot of magic in the air, and when I consulted the orb, I could see you… in the Otherworld, the Real Glastonbury Tor… the labyrinth, and the bonding… You are very lucky, you know. It is very rare to find your soul mate…" her tone was suddenly sad, "Now it will take a few hundred years to happen again…"

She shook her head as if to chase away a melancholy thought.

"Well, the average loving friendship shouldn't be scorned, I expect. Let's go down for breakfast. You will be rather hungry, won't you?"

If it had not been so un-Luna-ish, Fleur would have sworn there was a cheeky smile in her face.

Harry and Fleur met at the entrance to the Great Hall, and of course they rushed into each other's arms at once, completely oblivious to everything around them.

When they let go again, gasping for air, and became aware of their surroundings, they realised that a small crowd had assembled around them. After a moment of silence, there were some wolf-whistles, and the spectators broke into applause.

Normally, Fleur would have died of embarrassment, but now she just smiled at Harry, took his hand and together they entered the hall.

Reluctantly, they separated to join their house tables.

At the Gryffindor table, Hermione gave Harry a quizzical look.

"You look different somehow," she said thoughtfully. "He does, doesn't he, Ron?"

Ron, who had been stuffing himself with bacon and eggs, clearly had no clue at all and mumbled something indistinct between mouthfuls.

"You CAN be rather useless, you know," she said exasperatedly. "What is it, Harry?"

And as she saw Harry blush profusely, she added in a satisfied voice, "There HAS been something, right?"

"Erm – you know," Harry muttered, thoroughly embarrassed, "That prophecy, remember, about fire and water… me and Fleur, see … well, last night… we …"

At last he had caught Ron's interest, too, who, with quite uncharacteristic astuteness, seemed to have drawn his own conclusions from Harry's less than coherent utterances.

"You have, mate? Really?"

At the note of envy in his voice, Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, but refrained from saying anything.

"What was it like?"

"Ah, shut up, Ron," Hermione snapped, irritated. "I'm sure Harry will tell us what we need to know – without catering to your immature fantasies. So what's that about the prophecy, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath and started to tell his friends about the remarkable events.

Meanwhile, at the Ravenclaw table, Lyra proved to be similarly observant as Hermione.

"There's a new look about you," she told Fleur, looking at her questioningly. "You are – I know this sounds weird, - you are glowing, for lack of a better word, positively shining with happiness… What-? No, don't tell me… I believe I can… Yes! It's finally happened!"

Again, Fleur, who had no doubt what her friend was talking about, blushed deeply.

"So I AM right," Lyra said, sounding satisfied with herself. "And let me say I am very happy for you. I can't for the life of me imagine HOW, with you in your four-poster right next to the rest of us, but I'm sure you will clear up that little technical detail easily enough…"

She looked at Fleur expectantly, who had little choice but comply with her demand.

When she had finished her story, Cho, who had heard her too, hugged her fervently, tears streaming down her face,

"You are so lucky!" she sobbed. "Cedric…" Her voice broke.

Fleur patted her awkwardly. "I understand," was all that she could say.

When the students were getting ready to leave after finishing breakfast, Professor McGonagall approached both the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables and requested Fleur and Harry to accompany her to the headmaster's office.

"The headmaster wishes to see you at once," she told them, but refused to say anything more. "Miss Chang, you should come too."

The three students looked at each other in surprise.

"Now I can perhaps understand about you two," Cho said, a weak smile gracing her tear-stained face, "But what can he possibly want with me?" A thought seemed to hit her. "Can – can it be about Cedric, do you think?"

But of course they had no answer to this.

While approaching the headmaster's office, Fleur and Harry began to feel more uneasy.

_Whatever they are going to say or do,_ Harry told Fleur in his mind, _there is nothing to regret or be ashamed for._

_Of course not_, she replied with conviction._ We have done the best thing we have ever done in our lives – at least I have. And I'd do it all over again._

_Would you now?_ Harry teased, and the mental image he conveyed to her made the colour rise in her cheeks.

"Good morning," Dumbledore welcomed them heartily, his eyes twinkling more than usual. He seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood. "Do sit down. Lemon drop?"

Unlike their last visit to the office, this time Dumbledore conjured a comfortable soft couch for them to sit next to each other, as well as a large leather armchair for Cho.

"I must ask your patience, Miss Chang," he addressed Cho. "for talking to these two young people first. But rest assured, what I have to tell you is nothing bad – nothing bad at all…"

"These seating arrangements will put you more at your ease, I expect," he said, turning to Fleur and Harry. "Now, even if I have a general idea, why don't you tell me in your own words what happened last night?"

"But sir, how …?"

"How I know something has been going on? Well, a sudden outburst of magic around midnight has been clearly registered by these instruments here. Now of course it's just possible that these events have nothing at all to do with you, but I would be greatly surprised if that was indeed the case."

He listened carefully and without interruption as Fleur and Harry gave a short account of the night's occurrences, finishing their report with the bonding ceremony.

"This is very good," he said at last. "And I must say I envy you a bit. To meet both Her and Him… and to be bonded by them… it is a privilege that very few are granted…"

"But sir, who ARE they? I mean – Morgaine and Merlin, yes, but both of them say they have had many names…"

"Clever reasoning, Harry. What you have met, are – how can I explain? – in a way incarnations of the two aspects of the life force that keeps things going, male and female, yin and yang, … Spirits, if you like, that have assumed human form to communicate with mortals."

"Like – a god and goddess?"

"I suppose you can see them as that, and indeed ancient cultures did. But there is hardly anything very godlike about them, immortal, of course, by definition, but otherwise? No omnipotence, omniscience, and the rest… And their power is even more limited in the human world, as we all find out to our sorrow day after day…"

An unwelcome thought occurred to Harry.

"Will – will Voldemort also know?"

Dumbledore's eyes became grave again.

"Alas, Harry, I cannot imagine how he could not. At least, he will have registered the same outburst of magic – there is no way he could not have noticed that. There is a chance that he will not be aware of the source it came from, or realise the implications it holds for him, but I am afraid it is extremely small."

"Implications? The prophecy?"

"Obviously. If there is anything at all in it, the condition has been met. Now it all depends on whether he knows about the prophecy. If he does – which we have no way of finding out – he will most likely speed up whatever plans he as made. So we'd all better be very careful…"

"But sir, what can we actually DO?"

"Unfortunately, Harry, I don't think there is anything. All we can do is to be on our guard. The only thing is to wait for him to make the first move and be prepared as best we can."

There was a silence which Dumbledore ended by turning to Cho.

"I thank you for being so patient with an old man's curiosity," he said, and his eyes were twinkling again behind his glasses. "But now for the news, the GOOD news. - Yes, Harry, it sometimes IS good news that awaits you in this room, and not only you. – If you will be so good, Minerva…"

McGonagall waved her wand. The effect was instantaneous, if hard to describe – as if a veil or curtain was pulled away, without, however, that curtain being visible in the first place, - a figure was suddenly revealed near the window.

For a moment the three young people gaped, motionless.

Cho was the first to come out of the trance-like state.

"Cedric!"

With a strangled sob she rushed over to fling her arms around him.

Fleur and Harry stared at Dumbledore, still speechless.

"You must forgive my taste for the dramatic," he said with a smile. "And I believe, Harry, you will agree with me – this certainly is good news, isn't it?"

"But – sir, is it – I mean, has it – ?"

"Has it anything to do with your midnight adventures? I would indeed be very surprised if it had not. Powerful magic like that will have various effects, and restoring a loved one seems so very much in keeping with it all, don't you think? Actually, Cedric's awakening was the strongest hint for me as to what might have happened."

He looked at Cho and Cedric, who were wrapped in each other's arms tightly, completely oblivious of anything around them. His expression was the happiest Harry had seen in him for a long time.

"We had better leave them to themselves, don't you think?" He asked with a smile and a movement of his wand obscured the couple.

"You are excused from your lessons today," he said, turning back to Fleur and Harry. "And I can imagine you will know various ways to make good use of this incidental free time…"

_Morgain__e's words exactly,_ Harry told Fleur, and again the colour rose in their cheeks.

Nobody – not even _Hogwarts, a History, -_ had an explanation for the fact that rumours spread like – well, like magic, - through the castle. Therefore, by dinner time the whole school was abuzz with the weirdest and most fantastic ideas. Some speculated that You-know-who had been sighted in Hogsmeade, others maintained that there had been a robbery of Gringotts' most severely guarded vaults, while another group claimed to have heard from reliable sources – which, however, nobody could name, - that some sort of horrible catastrophe (flood, earthquake, or fire) was certain to hit the school/the village/the country. The general atmosphere among the students was threatening to explode in a chaos of hysterics.

It was therefore out of a very serious concern for the order of things that Dumbledore rose from his seat before dinner to make his announcement.

"I could not but notice," he began, and a sudden silence fell, "that there is a certain unrest among you. So to forestall all the rumours and gossip that seem to have sprung up, I have decided to divulge this news to you. And I am happy to tell you, especially in troubled times like these, it is good news, _very_ good news indeed. My friends, give a heartfelt welcome – welcome back, - to -" He waved his wand and lifted the Disillusionment Charm, "Cedric Diggory!"

Everybody could suddenly see Cedric standing in front of the High Table, holding Cho by the hand and looking embarrassed by all the attention.

There was a second of stunned dead silence but then a storm of excited shouting broke loose like the Great Hall most likely had never experienced before. A surge of enthusiastic students made to rush forward, and the headmaster had to cast a series of Impedimenta Charms to prevent Cedric being crushed by the crowds.

After subduing the noise with a strong silencing charm, Dumbledore spoke again:

"Yes, my friends, this is a joyous day for all of us. And perhaps it will be best if Mr. Diggory says a few words to you right now to explain his long absence."

The next few minutes Cedric gave a short summary of the events that had led to his misfortune.

"And let there be no misunderstanding," he said. "Nothing of it all was anybody's fault – except You-know-who's, that is, - and most certainly not Harry's. In fact, if it hadn't been for him, I most likely wouldn't be here today."

When he had finished, Dumbledore lifted his spells and a group of Hufflepuffs dashed forward to carry their recovered housemate on their shoulders to their table.

_If Voldemort did not know before,_ Harry told Fleur, _there is no way he could have missed this._

Of course Peter Summerby offered at once to resign and install Cedric in his position as captain and seeker for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team again, but Cedric kindly but firmly refused. Having been petrified for almost a year, he said, had not left him in a physical condition to stand any chance in the upcoming match against Slytherine

Even though, although Hufflepuff put up a valiant fight and was in the lead with 70 points against Slytherin's ten for almost three hours, Draco Malfoy caught the snitch, thus winning Slytherin a game that they clearly had not deserved to win – or at least that was what all the other houses fervently believed. Most people were saying that the snitch had once again behaved in a very unexpected way.

"At least, this time they cannot say you hexed it," Harry told Fleur with a huge grin.

**A/N:** A short respite now before the dramatic events of the next chapter.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again - reviews are a writer's lifeblood, and while favourite story/author, and chapter alerts are all very nice, they are not reviews. And this is for you, **Gabriel**: Of course I'd really appreciate that "massive in-depth review" you are talking about. Your first review is anonymous, so can't contact you. You can PM me, or get my email address from my profile. I'd especially appreciate to hear about any plot holes and loose ends I may have forgotten about.


	51. Chapter 51

Chapter 51 The Mask Falls

"I've been having those dreams," Harry told Fleur awkwardly a couple of days later. "Thought you'd want to know…"

"Dreams?"

"_Good_ dreams," he hurriedly said, hearing the alarm in her voice. "About – about my parents…"

"Your parents? _Good _dreams? Tell me about them!"

"Well, you know, don't you – I usually dream about them – about Voldemort…"

"I know, Harry," she said soothingly. "But it's not about that this time, is it?"

"No. It's us – my mum and dad, I mean… I am exactly like I am, not a baby, I mean, and they keep talking to me, and I can see them and hear them… And always – at the end, I mean, - when my mum is - is going to kiss me… I wake up…"

"And you never get that kiss," Fleur said, understanding exactly. "Here, let me…"

"I know it's not the same," she said, withdrawing as she felt him stiffen in her arms. "And I do feel silly for even trying…"

"Please, don't," Harry muttered, averting his eyes. "You – you are all I have left…"

Feeling her own eyes sting, she said nothing.

"It's the third time now," Harry went on after a pause. "And it's always the same dream… Do you think there can be something in it?"

The desperate hope in his voice tore at her heart.

"We can't know, cherie, can we? It does seem strange, to be sure. Shouldn't you tell Dumbledore?"

"What for?" Harry retorted rather gruffly. "He'll just say it's no wonder, what with us talking about those parallel worlds and things. And what do you expect he can possibly do about it?"

"I don't know, Harry. But he did say to tell him about anything unusual, didn't he?"

"All right, I will. Why don't we go and seek him out right away?"

"No, Harry. I believe you'd better talk to him on your own," Fleur said as gently as she could manage, feeling strangely hurt by his sudden brusqueness. "It's a very private matter for you, and I'm sure you can talk more freely."

_All he has left,_ Fleur thought when he had gone in search of the headmaster, careful to shield these thoughts from Harry. _Am I really that to him – second best? _

Pondering this idea,Fleur did what she usually did when she was upset – she took her broom and went out for a few turns in the grounds. Flying, she hoped, would help her to sort out her feelings.

When she approached the Quidditch pitch, she noticed with some annoyance that a solitary figure was there that turned out to be Roger Davies – a fact that did nothing to brighten her mood.

_Well, I can't tell him to leave, I suppose,_ she said to herself; and trying to ignore him as best as she could, she made ready to mount her broom to kick off.

"Not so fast, my beauty!"

His voice was cold and dangerous and against her will Fleur froze with irrational fear. Before she could regain her composure, she heard him say, "Portus!" and felt how something – possibly his wand – touched her hand where she was wearing Harry's ring.

When she felt the familiar feeling of portkey transportation, there was no chance for her to do anything at all.

Of course Harry had no idea what the password for the headmaster's office might be, and he was just about to turn away from the gargoyle, having unsuccessfully tried various sweets – not too unhappy, to be quite honest, as he still felt somewhat irritated by Fleur's insistence that he tell Dumbledore about those dreams, - when the object of his visit appeared round the corner.

"You wish to see me, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "It's – it's probably nothing, professor," he began hesitantly, "but – Fleur – she thought I ought to tell you…" He felt quite stupid now and stopped.

"Well, we'd better get in, then," Dumbledore said calmly, turning to the gargoyle. "Strawberry trifle!"

The gargoyle jumped aside, and they stepped onto the moving staircase and up to the office, which by now was quite familiar to Harry.

"Have a seat," Harry, Dumbledore said, settling himself in the chair at his desk. "Now what is it you have to tell me?"

Harry proceeded to describe his recurring dream, feeling more and more embarrassed as he went on.

"Well, that is all," he finished awkwardly. "I'm sure it's nothing important, and I'm sorry to bother you, professor."

He stood up, ready to leave, but a gesture from Dumbledore stopped him.

"On the contrary, Harry," he said, sounding very serious. "As I have told you before, we should not take any chances. Now, I'm not saying that there has to be something behind it all, but the very fact that the same dream has been repeating itself like that seems to indicate something special. As I see it, apart from it being a meaningless coincidence after all, there are two very different explanations – and I am not at all certain which I like less: It could really be some unknown power or influence reaching out from one of those parallel worlds –"

He stopped when he saw Harry's expression.

"You really shouldn't, Harry," he said gently. "There is no imaginable way people who have died here, in our world, could ever cross over from one where they are alive. It would contradict all the rules of this or any other universe. So …" He did not finish, but Harry understood.

"But sir, you said you did not like this possibility?"

"I certainly don't, Harry. Even if it is impossible for the dead to return in this way, there are any number of – _things_ that could, once an opening has been established. The legends are full of them, and more often than not they are anything but nice… Luckily, though, these dreams do not indicate that any such opening has yet developed."

"And the other explanation?"

"Do you need to ask, Harry?"

"Voldemort? But – why?"

"Again, we cannot even begin to guess. It is possible that he is using these dreams to try to make you do something rash in the belief you could get through to your parents, it may develop into some kind of blackmail, even, who knows? But whatever the dreams suggest, Harry, always remember, and that holds true for both my explanations, that there is absolutely no chance in our world that Lily and James will ever come back. Always keep in mind that you are dealing with the most evil wizard of our times, who has never done anything for anybody except for himself. So, whenever he seems to be giving you something, anything, he will be cheating… Never believe anything Voldemort says, and most certainly never trust any promises he might make."

Harry could only shake his head. Too many thoughts were racing through his head.

"Well," he said after a pause. "I suppose I'd better be going. Thanks for listening to me, professor."

"One minute, Harry. I would like you to take something with you." Dumbledore clicked his fingers and a wooden box sailed from one of the shelves and landed on the desk.

"Do you remember this, Harry?"

It took Harry a moment or two before he recognised the ancient-looking box.

"Monsieur Delacour's dagger?"

"Correct, Harry. You remember I took it with me to investigate its magical properties? Well, I have reason to believe that this dagger might perhaps be used to open doors to those other worlds we have been talking about. I must admit that I myself have not yet been able to use it for that purpose. However, with your affinity to them, which may be expressing itself through these dreams, you might be luckier than I have been…"

"But… how…?"

"Alas, I cannot advise you, Harry. Some of the old legends speak about a knife that can cut windows to those other worlds… All I can say is that I have not been able to do it; I certainly have tried… Perhaps the dagger itself will tell you when the time and the place are right… I did tell you how magical objects seem to develop lives of their own, remember? Of course there is always the chance that I am completely wrong about this dagger…"

"But it's worth trying," Harry said resolutely, picking up the box. "Thank you, professor."

When Fleur failed to turn up at the table at lunchtime, Harry walked up to the Ravenclaw seventh years, who were just returning from the library.

"Where's Fleur?" He inquired nervously.

He met surprised expressions.

"But – isn't she with you?" Lyra said at last. "She didn't turn up for studying, so we thought…"

She didn't finish, and a worried look came into her eyes.

"You don't think -" she began, but Harry had already turned on his heel.

_There's something wrong_, his mind was racing while he sprinted up the stairs to his dormitory. He tried to send out his thoughts to her, and found he did not get a reply, not even the faintest echo of her thoughts. For a moment he panicked, and it was only with an effort that he could pull himself together and try to think clearly.

_It's my fault,_ he berated himself as he delved into his trunk. _She was upset, and it's because of my idiotic behaviour this morning. She just meant to help me… and now… if something's happened to her…_

After a frantic search of a minute or two he consulted the Marauders' Map and had soon located the tiny spot labelled "Fleur Delacour".

_The Chamber of Secrets._

Somehow, it did not even come as a surprise.

_They are after me_, he reasoned with himself. _She is only of any use to them as a hostage, so why should they harm her? (At least not just yet, a nasty voice in the back of his mind whispered.)_

For a moment, he contemplated the idea of telling Ron and Hermione, but he abandoned it quickly.

"No, this is between me and him. It would only mean putting two more people in danger; and there is hardly anything they can do, after all…"

A strange calmness came over him as he regarded the motionless black dot.

_So this is where we meet again_.

The corridors were deserted and he did not meet anybody as he made his way to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Open up," he said in Parseltongue. The opening appeared and Harry let himself down into the bowels of Hogwarts without hesitation.

When he came to his feet at the bottom of the chute, he found that the rubble from the collapsed tunnel roof that had almost completely blocked the passage had disappeared, but apart from that he was mildly surprised how little the place had changed in all the years. He went on cautiously, past the hide of the basilisk that was still there quite undisturbed and soon found himself in the chamber where he had fought the beast itself. The huge carcass was also still there, the hollow eyes staring and the huge fangs glinting faintly in the dim light.

Remembering the power of the basilisk fang, he had an idea.

"Accio, basilisk fang!" he said, pointing his wand at the huge jaws and caught it in his left hand.

If he had expected to find Fleur, though, he was disappointed. The chamber seemed quite empty. Harry stopped, looking around and wondering what to do now.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a movement.

Wand at the ready, he spun round, but there was nobody, just –

"The Mirror of Erised?"

There was indeed a huge mirror, at exactly the spot where Tom Riddle had been standing waiting for him thee years ago, and it did look very much like the magical mirror he had come across in his first year. Shapes were moving in it, and that was what had caught his eye.

As he went closer, however, Harry noticed several differences; even if it did not show any signs of it, no chips, scratches or blind spots, it was obviously very old – indeed, in some illogical way, its very state of perfect preservation was what created that impression. And while the Mirror of Erised's inscription had been in legible letters (even if the words had not made any sense to him), here there was a long band of runes – Atlantean runes, most likely, - winding itself along the edge of the glass, snakelike.

Just like the Mirror of Erised, however, there were figures moving in the glass, and it was with a strange mixture of longing and dread that Harry recognised them.

"Mum? Dad?"

He felt eleven years old again, remembering how he had seen them for the first time in his conscious life, in that lonely cold chamber.

"Harry! Oh, Harry!"

The words were barely a whisper, but there was no mistaking the sound of the voice, the same voice that, so far, had only been screaming in his nightmares.

As if hit by a blow, Harry stopped, staring at the figure in disbelief.

"Mum?" he repeated, stupidly.

Fleur's first impression after the effect of the portkey had abated was that she could not move. The sensation was similar to the Petrificus curse that she had experienced in various lessons, but there was a difference that she could at the moment not put a finger on.

When she looked around her wildly – that, she noticed, was one difference, as the normal Petrificus curse would not even allow you to move your eyes, - she found herself in a dark cave-like chamber, dimly lit by invisible light sources. The high vaulted ceiling, barely visible in the dusk, was supported by a number of columns decorated with snake-shaped ornaments. Even though she was completely unable to move, she was not lying on the ground, as would have been expected, but found herself standing upright – if standing was the correct word at all.

Roger Davies, she now realised, was standing next to her.

"Welcome to the chamber of Slytherin," he said with an ironic bow.

Fleur struggled for words, but no sound would come from her lips.

Roger watched her with quiet amusement.

"Don't exert yourself, my dear," he said with a malicious smile. "That's a good spell the Dark Lord has been generous enough to teach me."

Fleur gasped at the blunt statement. Roger noticed and chuckled nastily.

"Yes, the Dark Lord himself. Who'd have believed it? Nice Roger Davies, a bit Quidditch crazy, perhaps, but a fair sportsman and good student… Ravenclaw, too, not a nasty Slytherin…" He paused to let his words sink in, then continued, "Did you really believe I'd forgotten last year? How you humiliated me in front of the entire house – the entire school? That I'd just watch bloody Harry Potter getting everything – AGAIN? No, my ice queen, this time you won't get away with it! Remember how I told you I'd have you? Roger Davies always keeps his word!"

Fleur shivered at the hatred in his voice.

"Yes," he repeated, "I will have you, but I will not keep you long, if that is any consolation…" he smirked horribly. "The Dark Lord will reward me for my services, and then – then I'll have who and whatever I want…"

In spite of her fear, a cold fury welled up in Fleur's mind at these words.

_Pathetic! _ _The despicable scum! He's not even able to anything by himself – he needs to grovel to his master…_

"But first," came the hateful voice again, "You will have the honour of assisting in the downfall of the Boy-who-presumed-to-stand-up-to-the-Dark-Lord…"

With a flourish, he pointed at the other side of the chamber. Only now Fleur saw what looked like a very large mirror in which indistinct shapes seemed to be moving, and there, in front of the mirror, was –

_Harry!_ Her mental scream seemed to evaporate inside her head – it was obvious Harry could not register it; their mental bond did not work.

"Imperio!" His curse hit her like a hammer.

"Mum?" Harry repeated as if in a trance. Irresistibly, he felt himself drawn towards the mirror. He reached out towards the smooth surface, hesitatingly.

A gesture from his mother's image stopped him. She seemed to be pointing.

"Look, Harry!" He heard, or perhaps thought he heard the whispering voice. He turned and stopped dead.

Over at the far end of the dais, perhaps ten to fifteen feet away, he saw –

"Fleur?"

And it was indeed her, in the arms of a male figure, whom it took him only a second to recognise – Roger Davies.

_Kiss me! _A wave of nausea washed over Fleur as she felt her captor's orders crash into her mind. But helpless, she had to watch herself, as it were from an outside vantage point, like an empty shell go into the required movements – putting her arms round him, tilting her face invitingly, to receive the hateful lips with her own and accept the thrust of his tongue into her mouth.

_Harry! Help me!_ But again her desperate mental shout seemed to implode inside her head.

_Touch me!_ The command came, and she watched her hands wander like those of an automaton. Into his hair, under his robes…

"Come to us, Harry," the whispering voice was there again. "Come, she isn't worth it, she has betrayed you. She has only been playing with you, how could you ever believe…"

Harry shook himself in irritation, glancing back and forth between the mirror and the spectacle of Fleur in the arms of Roger Davies. All his insecurities resurfaced.

"She is not worth it, Harry, you belong to us…"

But then an image fought its way into his consciousness – Fleur and him standing at the sacred stone, exchanging their vows…

_Tell me you love me_, Davies' command burned into Fleur's mind.

Too late, he realised his mistake: Like a white-hot flame, Fleur's control kicked in, and summoning all her disgust and fury, with a wordless spell flung him from her, leaving him sprawled on the stone floor.

At the very same moment, Harry's mind had sufficiently cleared to realise what he had almost done. And simultaneously, he and Fleur flew at each other, into a desperate embrace, sobbing as an elemental wave of emotions enveloped them, both sensing that they had just had a very narrow escape.

Roger Davies, however, had almost at once recovered from the shock. His face livid with fury, he screamed a curse at them that swept them off balance and in a maelstrom of red light hurled them into the mirror.

**A/N: **So - what do you think? Anybody saw it coming?

You may know I'm something of a Shakespeare freak - can anyone find the Shakespeare line I have used? (Hint: it' spoken by one of the nastier characters...)

Keep your fingers crossed for yours truly - I do hope to be able to come up with more a bit sooner now!


	52. Chapter 52

Chapter 52 Through the Looking Glass

As she frequently did in her spare time, Luna Lovegood was gazing into her crystal ball in the Ravenclaw common room. What she was seeing seemed to be of interest to her as she was crouching over the ball with her nose almost touching it. Suddenly she jumped up, almost upsetting the ball, but paying it no heed and – quite unusual of her typical dreamy behaviour, - made a mad dash upstairs towards the seventh year girls' dormitory, into which she burst without knocking.

"Lyra!" She gasped breathlessly.

The older girl, who had been lounging on her bed, engrossed in a book, looked up.

"Luna?" Seeing her friend's excited state she dropped her book and jumped off the bed. "What is it?"

"No time!" Luna breathed, grabbing her hand and dragging her out of the room. "Mirror – Window - Harry – come on!"

Strangely, these cryptic words seemed to make some sense to Lyra; at any rate, she gave up her initial reluctance, and dashed after Luna of her own accord.

When they reached the second floor bathroom, it took Luna only a moment to find her bearings.

"Down there," she said matter-of-factly, pointing at the opening that Harry had gone down a short time ago.

Lyra hesitated.

"There? Are you sure?"

Luna did not bother to answer, but her look told the other girl that there was no question about that. And so the two Ravenclaws went down the tube and presently found themselves in the tunnel with the basilisk hide.

Luna stopped only shortly to take a firm hold of her wand and to motion for her friend to do the same; then they crept on silently, until they reached the tunnel opening into the chamber. They were just in time to witness Davies' spell that threw Harry and Fleur into the mirror. Lyra almost screamed, but when she realised that there was no shattered glass, no broken frame, and, most importantly, no sign of Harry and Hermione, she began to understand. Her eyes wide with astonishment, she looked over at Luna, who smiled back at her triumphantly.

Roger Davies had clearly not expected the effect his spell had had, and was still gazing unbelievingly at the spot where Harry and Fleur had disappeared. Thus, he was completely unprepared for the Expelliarmus and Petrificus totalis that simultaneously hit him from the two girls' wands.

"Good work," Lyra said, breathing deeply. "Now, what next?"

Luna gave her a surprised look. "After them, of course."

"But – what about – ?", Lyra gestured to the prone form of Roger Davies.

"Oh, that? Incarcerous!"

Magical cords wound themselves round his arms and legs.

"Can you do a Patronus?" Luna then inquired.

"Yes, what for?"

"Send it to Dumbledore, or Flitwick, or someone, to come and clean up here. We should not wait for anybody to come down, they are sure to stop us, and that's not what we want to happen, do we?"

"But Luna, you can… I mean, this is my own quest, there's no need for you to…you really shouldn't…"

"Rubbish," Luna said with a look that expressed more than words what she thought of that idea. "Of course I'm coming!"

So Lyra conjured her Patronus, which looked exactly like her parrot, Orest, and it flew off to the tunnel.

"Off we go," Luna said cheerfully, and it was extraordinary how her usual dreaminess had changed into full alertness.

Together, their wands at the ready, they stepped through the mirror.

When Harry and Fleur could think clearly again, they found themselves in a heap on the stone floor, stunned with the surprise but otherwise unscathed. They clambered to their feet and looked around, bewildered.

At first glance, the place was not a lot different: The same stone floor, the same columns with the same snake-like decorations; there was, however, no sign of Roger Davies. And on closer inspection, their surroundings showed none of the signs of neglect and decay that abounded in the original chamber. Also, the carcass of the basilisk was nowhere to be seen.

The mirror, through which they had been hurled by the spell, was standing there, without even the slightest traces of damage.

"What was that?" Harry said, more to himself.

"You've just gone through the mirror," came Lyra's voice, sounding slightly amused, as she and Luna stepped through.

Harry and Fleur could only gape at the two girls.

"An Atlantean Portal," Luna said, sounding somewhat similar to Hermione's lecturing mode. "A gate to an alternative universe."

"But – what are _you_ doing here? Well, never mind, I guess it's the getting back that matters…"

And he approached the mirror.

"I don't believe it will work, Harry," Lyra told him. I think it's a one-way portal. To turn it around, you'd have to use the proper spells…"

"Anyway," Luna said brightly, "We have just arrived, haven't we? I certainly am not going back anytime soon…"

"You mean you have _planned_ to come here? What in Merlin's name…"

"It's a long story, Harry. But the main point is that Lyra is looking for her mother…"

"Her mother??"

"As Luna has said, it's a along and complicated story; but at any rate I have at last managed to go through one portal – they say the first time is the hardest to do… So I am definitely staying."

"But – Luna? What about you? You're not looking for anybody, are you?" Fleur asked.

"No," Luna replied cheerfully. "I'm just curious – and maybe I can write an interesting article for the _Quibbler_… But now that we are here, we'd better look around some, and see what we can do next."

Only now, Harry remembered what he had seen in the mirror before being thrown though it by the spell. He looked around, bewildered.

"Where are they?"

"Who?" Lyra, quite understandably, asked.

"My – parents… I - I saw – them…"

"Where, Harry?" Fleur asked softly, taking his hand.

"In – in the mirror – before… And – and my mother was speaking to me… Like – like in those dreams…"

He paused. Suddenly he looked at Fleur, horrified.

"She – she said I – I should – you were – you were betraying me…" Tears came to his eyes and he looked down in shame. "And I – I – almost – almost believed it…"

Fleur folded him in her arms and did not let go when she felt him go rigid. At last he relaxed, buried his face in her shoulder and gasped between sobs. "Can you – forgive me?"

She held him close until the shaking of his body subsided.

"It was just a mean trick of Voldemort's, Harry," she said quietly. "There is nothing to forgive."

"And I've not even – not even asked you what happened – I mean, - you and – and Roger… I really should have…"

"He Imperiused me – made me do all those things… there was nothing I could do… and I hated every second of it – oh, Harry, I feel so – so dirty!"

"Hush, love, you have nothing at all to feel dirty for, it's me that should – But – how did you manage to break the curse?"

"I'm not sure – he – after he had made me do all those disgusting things, he – he told me to say I loved him… oh, Harry, it was just too much… something snapped – I can't explain it…"

"It's your bond, your love," Luna told them quietly. "The special connection you have… He could make you do all sorts of physical things, you see," she said to Fleur, "But he could not control your mind. And that command was the last straw that made it possible for you to break the curse… Oh, you are both extremely lucky, you know…"

"But – but how did he get you here, of all places? You need to speak Parseltongue to open the access…"

"Portkey – my ring – oh, Harry! A hidden Portkey – remember?"

And it all came back to Harry, as he took Fleur's hand to examine the ring. It did not look any different at all.

"That shop," he said thoughtfully, "Do you think… it can't be… but then… do you think it was – planted on me or something? Well, it doesn't matter, I guess; it's just a ring, isn't it? We checked that, didn't we?"

Luna, however, thought differently. "I bet it helped you break the curse… it's Morgaine's amulet, after all… I told you it wanted to be free, didn't I?" she added, apparently as an afterthought.

"Free?"

"Yes, Harry. It does not belong in a setting… That's why your 'tests' didn't have any results…"

"Now this may all be very interesting," said Lyra, who had been looking around the place through this conversation, "But there are a couple of more pressing issues. It might be a clever idea, I believe, to be prepared for a surprise or more…"

"What…?"

"For example," said Lyra, "There is no sign of the monster that, - even though dead, - is such a prominent feature in the place we've just left…"

"The basilisk? You mean…?"

"A distinct possibility, I'd say," Lyra said drily. "What do we do?"

"Simple." Luna smiled her typical smile and moved her wand in an intricate pattern. "Here you are," she said and handed each of them a pair of bright silver glasses. "This should do the trick…"

"How did you…? Never mind, I guess. But – how can I fight it? I mean, I can't count on Fawkes again, can I?"

"Harry," said Luna patiently, "Why does it always have to be fighting? You can speak Parseltongue – why don't you talk to it? Is it really the mindless evil monster everyone says?"

"Yes, Harry," Fleur agreed. "Things are often not what they seem at first glance… And it's worth a try, I'm sure. And if the worst comes to the worst, - there's four of us, I do imagine we could at least get away without much of a problem…"

"Er – I guess you'll see about all that pretty soon, Harry," Lyra said, pointing.

Indeed, over towards the far end of the chamber, there was a movement of something very big.

"The basilisk," Luna stated flatly. "Or the Jabberwock, as it would be called in another place…"

"And – I do believe it's in some kind of cage or something," Fleur added.

They moved cautiously nearer, and it was really as she had said. A row of magical bars separated the creature's area from the rest of the chamber. The basilisk was there, coiled up, with its head turned towards the wall.

"It looks almost harmless," Harry whispered. "Shouldn't we leave it as it is and get out of here as fast as we can?"

"And never know whether it's coming after us? Not a very good idea, in my opinion," said Lyra.

"It looks so unhappy," Luna said thoughtfully. "It's not nice, being locked up like that…"

"Really, Luna …" Fleur began.

A sudden memory flashed through Harry's mind: He saw himself, all those years ago, looking at the boa constrictor in the zoo.

"Do you know – you might be right, Luna," he said with a smile. "Just – how do you address a basilisk?"

He thought for a moment and then said:

"Well, I'll never know unless I give it a try. Are you sure these glasses will work?"

Luna did not answer and just gave him her misty smile.

"All right, here goes, then…" And turning to the basilisk, he said in Parseltongue:

"Erm – can I talk to you?"

The huge snake slowly turned its head and looked at the humans. Now snakes, of course, have no facial expression, but it gave Harry quite a shock to see the dim light in its eyes that was nothing like what he remembered. Luna was obviously perfectly correct in her assumption – this creature certainly seemed to be extremely miserable.

"Why can't you leave me alone?" Even the snake language conveyed a feeling of resignation and tiredness. "Go away, Potter!"

Harry gasped in surprise.

"You know me?"

"Know you? When you come here almost every day to taunt and deride me?"

"Taunt and deride?"

Suddenly Harry understood.

"But I – I am not Potter – not _that_ Potter, at any rate…"

"Not?" The equivalent of a sarcastic laugh sounded in Harry's ears. "You are not denying you are him, are you?"

"Listen," Harry said desperately, "I know this is weird… I _am_ Harry Potter, but I'm not_ the_ Harry Potter that you seem to know… Me and my friends, we have just arrived through the mirror…"

The basilisk raised its head, and for the first time there seemed to be a spark of life, of interest, in its huge eyes.

"Just arrived? Through a mirror? From another world?"

"Yes, that's what it seems to be – I don't quite understand it myself… But I swear whatever person you know as Potter, it's not me…"

"True,"the basilisk said after a pause. "You look a bit different, especially your robes..."

"Tell me," Harry said slowly, "The Potter you know – you don't seem to like him?"

A deep growl came from the snake.

"I hate him! He has kept me locked up here for I don't know how long…"

"Excuse me for a moment, I have to explain to my friends," Harry said, having noticed how the girls were getting restless.

"I told you," Luna said with satisfaction, after he had told them about his conversation.

"It's not the dumb beast at all…"

"But what can it possibly mean," Fleur asked, "About the Harry Potter in this world… Can he be so very different from you?"

"I can't be sure, but this Potter seems to be rather nasty character…"

"That's what I mean by different, Harry."

"And it comes as quite a shock, I can tell you," Harry said thoughtfully. "I mean, what else will be different?"

"Quite a lot, I expect," Lyra remarked. That's why it's an _alternative_ universe. Most likely many other things will be the opposite of what we know: Basilisk: alive instead of dead; Harry Potter: bad instead of good – perhaps downright evil?"

"And - my parents?" Harry's voice was shaking as a horrible thought reared its ugly head.

Fleur understood at once.

"It is at least possible, Harry," she said very quietly, taking both his hands in hers. "It was a trick of Voldemort's after all…"

"We will probably be wiser soon," Luna interrupted, pointing towards the entrance of the chamber, where something seemed to be moving. "Someone's coming…"

"Potter!"the basilisk growled, turning its head towards the wall again.

A/N: Just like Harry, I was not sure how to talk to a basilisk, hence the long interval. As you will have noticed, the underlined parts are the ones spoken in Parseltongue.

What else can I say? Ah, yes - review! And **Gabriel** - I'm still waiting for that comprehensive thingy you promised!


End file.
